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In  a  hidden  valley  of  great  beauty,  beyond 
the  framework  of  our  modern  sense  o£  time,  lives 
a  people  until  now  untouched  by  civilization, 
direct  survivors  of  the  Stone  Age.  Under  the 
Mountain  Wall  is  an  account  of  their  life  during 
two  seasons  of  1961,  when  they  were  studied  by 
the  Harvard-Peabody  Expedition  to  New  Guinea. 

This  is  the  story  of  the  warrior  Weaklekek  and 
of  the  swineherd  Tukum,  of  U-mue  and  his  fam- 
ily, and  of  their  enemies  and  friends;  it  tells  of 
what  actually  happened  to  these  Kurelu  tribes- 
men, called  by  these  names,  in  the  last  spring 
and  summer  of  their  old  history.  It  follows  them 
in  their  timeless  rhythm  of  work  and  play  and 
war,  of  gardening  and  wood- gathering,  feasts 
and  funerals,  pig-stealing  and  ambush.  It  shows 
their  stone  and  wood  implements  being  made 
and  used,  their  weapons  and  their  agriculture, 
their  magnificent  war  decorations  of  shells  and 
fur  uric!  feathers.  It  sits  in  their  councils,  joins  the 
children  in  their  games,  wanders  through  the 
beauty  of  their  mountain  land. 

The  expedition's  visit  to  the  Kurelu  offered  a 
unique  chance,  perhaps  the  last,  for  a  firsthand 
account  of  a  lost  culture  in  all  its  primitive  sim- 
plicity and  violence.  Peter  M  itthiessen's  great 
gifts  both  as  a  novelist  (Raditzer,  etc.)  and  as  a 
keen  observer  and  interpreter  of  the  wilderness 
(Wildlife  in  America;  The  Cloud  Forest)  have 
gone  into  the  creation  of  this  strikingly  original 
work.  It  brings  to  the  reader  a  moving  sense  of 
the  "newness,"  the  purity  and  innocence,  of  a 
strong  and  fascinating  people,  and  oi  the  human- 
ity we  share. 

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995    MWa       62-22791  $7.50 

Matthiessens  Peter 

Under  the  mountain  wall;  a 
chronicle  of  two  seasons  in  the 
s      -    AT  y. ,  viking  Press 

'"*•  *"*"""' <£,<!•   /Q 1  ^fe*"?        £,f~\ 

Matthiessexig  Peter  vt*^ 

^±!^the,raountain^uia 


C1962] 


Viking  Press 


<;  iJ   .      '      Under  the  Mountain  Wall 


/"  ,:"! 


Also  by  Peter  Matthiessen 

FICTION 

Raditzer 
Partisans 
Race  Rock 

NON-FICTION 

The  Cloud  Forest 
Wildlife  in  America 


Under 


mountain 


Copyright  ©  1962  by  Peter 
All  rights  reserved 


First  published  in  1962  by  The  Viking  Press,  Inc. 
625  Madison  Avenue,  New  Yor  k  22,  Neu?  York 

Published  simultaneously  in  Canada  by 
The  Macmtilan  Company  of  Canada  Limited 

All  photographs  copyright  1962  by  the  Film  Study  Center, 

Peabody  Museum,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge  38,  Massachusetts. 

They  may  not  be  reproduced  in  any  form,  except  for  the  use  of 

not  more  than  four  photographs  as  illustrations  for  a  review  of  the  book, 

without  the  written  permission  of  the  Film  Study  Center. 

A  portion  of  the  text  has  appeared  in  somewhat  different 
form  in  Harper's. 

Library  of  Congress  catalog  card  number  62-16796 
Printed  in  the  V.  S,  A,  by  The  Vatt-Battou  Press 


For  Deborah,  with  bve 


In  warm  memory  of 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

whose  interest  and  generosity  were  a  major 

contribution  to  the  Harvard-Peabody  Expedition  of  1961, 

Though  he  did  not  live  to  see  the  achievement  of  the  Expedition, 

his  participation  VMS  crucial  to  its  success. 


Contents 


Front  Endpaper:  Map  of  the  Southern  Kurelu 

Rear  Endpaper:  from  a  drawing  by  Michael  Rockefeller 

Preface  *' 

List  of  Illustrations,  Section  I  ™ 

Photographic  Section  I:  The  Kurelu  fallowing  xv; 

Under  the  Mountain  Wall  7-256 

Photographic  Section  II:  The  People  of  the  Book 

following  256 

List  of  Illustrations,  Section  II  xvn 

Acknowledgments  ** 

Diagram:  Village  of  Wuperainma  xxi 

Glossary  of  Personal  Names  xxii 

Dani  Words  Used  Commonly  in  Text  xxvi 
Index 


Title-page  photograph  by  Eliot  Elisofon 

Drawings  of  Kurelu  artifacts  scattered  through  the  text 

are  by  Otto  van  Eersel 

•     ix 


Preface 


H  The  peaks  of  the  Snow  Mountains,  on  bright 
mornings,  part  the  dense  clouds  and  soar  into  the  skies  of 
Oceania.  Beneath  the  clouds,  like  a  world  submerged,  lie 
the  dark  rocks  which  form  the  great  island  of  New  Guinea; 
climbing  abruptly  from  the  Dampier  Strait  in  the  East  In- 
dies, the  range  extends  eastward  fifteen  hundred  miles  until, 
at  land's  end  in  Papua,  it  sinks  once  more  beneath  the  ocean. 

The  Snow  Mountains  are  the  summit  of  western  New 
Guinea,  On  a  high  flank  in  the  central  highlands  lies  a  sud- 
den valley:  here  the  Baliem  River,  which  had  vanished  un- 
derground some  twenty  miles  upstream,  bursts  from  the 
mountain  wall  onto  a  great  green  plain.  The  plain  itself,  ten 
miles  across,  is  a  mile  above  the  sea.  Fifty  miles  southeast 
of  the  valley's  head,  the  river  drops  into  a  gorge  and  passes 
from  the  mountains,  to  subside  at  last  in  the  vast  marshes  of 
sun  and  mud  and  sago  palms  stretching  southward  to  the 
Arafura  Sea. 

The  Baliem  Valley  was  discovered  from  the  air  in  1938, 
but  no  white  man  came  to  live  there  until  1954,  when  a  gov- 
ernment post  was  established  on  abandoned  lands  of  the 
Wukahupi  tribes.  Dutch  patrols  have  now  explored  much  of 

•      XI 


the  valley,  which  supports  more  than  forty  thousand  people, 
and  the  last  large  blank  on  the  most  recent  maps  is  a  region 
of  perhaps  thirty  square  miles  under  the  northeast  wall. 

This  remote  corner  is  controlled  by  those  tribes  of  the 
Ndani  or  Dani-speaking  peoples  known  as  the  Kurelu;  the 
Dani  language,  with  small  tribal  variations,  is  spoken 
throughout  the  valley  and  beyond,  yet  it  is  but  one  of  many 
distinct  languages  in  the  central  highlands.  (The  origins  of 
these  languages,  like  the  origins  of  the  people  themselves, 
are  virtually  unknown.  One  may  suppose  that  the  mountain 
Papuans  came  out  from  Asia  long  before  the  Polynesians — 
though  in  the  wake  of  the  Australian  aborigines — and  that 
they  were  forced  into  the  mountains  by  peoples  who  came 
after,  but  the  near  absence  of  archaelogical  evidence  makes 
any  attempt  at  chronology  unintelligent. )  The  region  is  bor- 
dered in  the  south  by  the  Aike  River  and  in  the  west,  toward 
the  Baliern,  by  the  lands  of  the  enemy  Wittaia.  In  the  north 
and  east  it  ends  abruptly  at  the  mountain  wall.  The  wall 
rises  in  a  series  of  steep  ridges  to  an  outer  rim  which  varies, 
around  the  valley,  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand  feet  in  eleva- 
tion; the  upper  wall  is  rarely  seen.  All  day,  all  year,  the 
clouds  balance  on  the  rim,  as  if  about  to  tumble  in.  They  are 
dark  and  still  and  all  but  permanent,  protecting  the  great 
valley  from  infecting  winds. 

The  Kurelu  are  named  for  the  tribal  kain  or  leader:  their 
country,  that  is,  is  "Kurelu's  Land."  The  tribe  is  divided  into 
four  main  groups:  the  Loro-Mabell  to  the  northward,  the 
Kosi-Alua  from  the  western  grasslands,  the  Haiman-Halluk, 
between  the  Kosi-Alua  and  the  mountains,  and  the  Wilihi- 
man-Walalua,  in  the  south.  The  Wilihiman-Walalua  is  the 
people's  contraction  of  four  clan  names  (Wilil:Haiman- 
Walilo:Alua)  and  represents,  politically,  a  union  of  allied 
villages.  Several  such  unions,  linked  by  clan  or  more  or  less 
well  disposed  toward  one  another,  may  form  a  loose  con- 


federacy  and  are  led  by  the  most  powerful  kain — in  this 
case,  Kurelu,  kain  of  the  Loro-Mabell.  Their  boundaries  are 
fluid  and  informal,  dependent  on  the  predominance  of  clan, 
though  the  clans  are  spread  throughout  the  villages.  The 
clan  Alua,  for  example,  is  well  represented  not  only  in  the 
Wilihiman-Walalua  but  in  the  Kosi-AIua.  The  latter  groups 
share  a  common  frontier  with  the  enemy  and  may  be  called 
the  southern  Kurelu. 

Because  the  southern  Kurelu  were  entirely  untouched 
by  civilization,  their  culture  was  chosen  for  study  by  the 
Harvard-Peabody  Expedition  of  1961.  The  expedition,  spon- 
sored in  part  by  the  government  of  the  Netherlands,  en- 
tered the  Baliem  at  the  end  of  March  and  remained  until 
September,  with  the  cooperation  and  assistance  of  the  Dutch 
officials,  particularly  Dr.  Victor  de  Bruyn  of  the  Office  of 
Native  Affairs.  Its  purpose  was  to  live  among  the  people  as 
unobtrusively  as  possible  and  to  film  and  record  their  wars, 
rituals,  and  daily  life  with  a  minimum  of  interference,  in 
order  that  a  true  picture  of  a  Stone  Age  culture — one  of  the 
few  in  which  both  war  and  agriculture  are  important — might 
be  preserved. 

This  book  is  a  chronicle  of  two  seasons  in  the  Stone  Age. 
The  few  details  and  episodes  not  actually  witnessed  by  the 
author  were  supplied  and  confirmed  by  other  members  of 
the  party — Robert  Gardner,  cameraman  and  leader  of  the 
expedition  whose  film,  Dead  Birds,  concerns  the  Kurelu; 
Karl  G.  Heider,  anthropologist;  Jan  Broekhuyse,  anthropolo- 
gist; Michael  Rockefeller,  photographer  and  sound  techni- 
cian. The  expedition  was  joined  by  photographer  Eliot 
Elisofon  for  the  month  of  May;  by  botanist  Chris  Versteegh 
for  two  weeks  in  June;  and  by  medical  student  Samuel 
Putnam  in  July  and  August;  it  was  assisted  immeasurably 
by  the  talents  and  good  company  of  its  Dani  interpreter, 
Abututi,  with  his  wife,  Wamoko,  and  of  its  cook,  Yusip. 

•      Kill 


All  of  these  have  made  important  contributions  to 
this  book,  but  I  am  particularly  indebted  to  Jan  Broekhuyse, 
whose  year  of  prior  experience  with  other  Baliem  tribes 
proved  invaluable  in  the  gathering  and  assessment  of  in- 
formation, and  to  Karl  Heider,  who  remained  with  the 
Kurelu  after  the  departure  of  the  expedition  and  has  since 
supplied  extensive  data  and  corrections.  Heider,  Broekhuyse, 
and  Gardner  have  been  kind  enough  to  inspect  the  manu- 
script for  errors  and  distortions,  and  within  the  limits  of  our 
present  understanding  of  the  culture  an  honest  portrait  of 
the  Kurelu  has  been  attempted. 

This  is  the  story  of  the  great  warrior  Weaklekek  and  of 
the  swineherd  Tukum,  of  U-mue  and  his  family,  and  of  their 
enemies  and  friends.  The  events  described  were  observed 
to  have  happened  to  these  tribesmen,  called  by  these  names, 
in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1961 — though  occasionally, 
minor  actions  of  one  person  have  been  attributed  to  another, 
to  avoid  a  confusing  multiplicity  of  characters.  The  glossary 
in  the  back  of  the  book  will  serve  as  a  key  to  the  dramatis 
personae  as  well  as  to  pronunciation. 

Reference  to  the  tribe's  exposure  to  the  expedition  has 
been  omitted,  not  only  because  the  first  reactions  of  a  wild 
people  to  the  white  man,  affecting  and  sad  and  funny  though 
they  are,  have  been  well  documented,  but  because  the  Ku- 
relu offered  a  unique  chance,  perhaps  the  last,  to  describe  a 
lost  culture  in  the  terrible  beauty  of  its  pure  estate.  The 
armed  patrols  and  missionaries  invaded  their  land  on  the 
heels  of  the  expedition,  and  by  the  time  this  account  of  them 
is  published,  the  proud  and  warlike  Kurelu  will  be  no  more 
than  another  backward  people,  crouched  in  the  long  shadow 
of  the  white  man. 


xlv 


Photographic  Section  1: 
THE   KURELU 


1  War  on  the  Tokolik 

2  A  Charge  of  the  Kurelu 

3  Skirmish  on  the  Waraba 

4  The  Front  Line 

s  The  Wittaia  Move  Forward 

6  Man  Wounded 

7  Funeral:  Men  Mourning 

8  Funeral 

9  Funeral:  The  Death  Chair 
w  Funeral:  The  Women 

n  The  Dead  Man  (Ekitamalek) 

12  The  Women:  Dancing  in  Etai 
(man  on  left  is  Ekali) 

13  The  Women:  The  Cooking  Pit 
\4  The  Women:  Weaving  Fiber 
is  The  Women:  Morning  Pasture 
\6  The  Children 

\7  The  Children 


PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

KARL  ELEIDER 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

SAMUEL    PUTNAM 

PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

JAN  BROEKHUYSE 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 
JAN  BROEKHUYSE 
JAN  BROEKHUYSE 
SAMUEL  PUTNAM 
SAMUEL  PUTNAM 
SAMUEL  PUTNAM 
•  XV 


18  The  Children  KABJL  HEIDER 

19  The  Children  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

20  The  Men:  Rebuilding  the  Kaio  at  Puakaloba    JAN  BROEKHUYSE 

21  The  Men:  Rock  Fire  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

22  The  Men:  Completion  of  the  Kaio  JAN  BROEKHUYSE 

23  Skirmish  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

24  Waiting  for  Battle  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

25  Twilight  Battle,  Waraba  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

26  Ltai  SAMUEL   PUTNAM 

27  Ltal  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 


XVI 


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Under  the  Mountain  Wai! 


•  One  morning  in  April,  in  the  year  when  the  old 
history  of  the  Kurelu  came  to  an  end,  a  man  named  We- 
aklekek  started  down  the  mountain  from  the  hill  village  of 
Lokoparek.  He  did  not  go  by  the  straight  path,  which  de- 
scends through  a  tangle  of  pandanus  and  bamboo  onto  the 
open  hillsides,  but  instead  went  west,  through  the  forest  be- 
neath the  cliff.  The  cliff  was  a  sheer  face  of  yellow  limestone 
black-smeared  with  green  algae,  and  the  tree  line  of  its  crest 
wavered  in  mist.  With  the  sun  rising  behind  it,  the  mist  ap- 
peared illumined  from  within. 

The  rains  of  April  had  been  heavy,  and  the  path  was  a 
glutinous  mire  pocked  by  the  hooves  of  pigs;  he  walked  it 
swiftly,  his  bare  feet  feeling  cleverly  for  the  root  or  rock  that 
would  give  them  purchase,  and  at  the  stream  he  ran  across 
the  log.  The  path  climbed  steeply  to  a  grove  of  tropical 
chestnuts,  tall,  with  small  leaves  of  green-bronze,  and  there 
he  paused  a  moment  to  peer  out  through  the  forest  shades. 
Though  he  could  not  see  it,  the  sun  had  mounted  from  be- 
hind the  cliff.  Below,  the  valley  floor  and  its  far  wall  steamed 
in  an  early  light,  but  the  forest  would  stay  dank  and  somber 
until  the  cloud  above  his  head  had  burned  away. 

Weaklekek  moved  on  to  a  point  where  the  wood  ended 


in  a  clearing  between  great  boulders;  the  wood  edge  leapt 
with  plants  of  light  and  shade,  the  most  striking  of  which 
was  a  great  rhododendron,  its  white  blossoms  broader  than 
his  hand.  In  the  shadows  and  clefts  of  the  boulders,  wood 
ferns  in  wild  variety  uncurled  from  among  the  liverworts 
and  lichens,  the  mosses  and  silver  fungi.  The  ferns  were  the 
triumphant  plant  of  the  high  forest,  with  species  numbering 
in  the  hundreds,  but  Weaklekek  was  oblivious  of  the  ferns, 
of  all  the  details  of  his  world  which  could  not  immediately 
be  put  to  use.  The  ferns,  like  the  mist  hung  on  the  cliffs,  the 
squall  of  parrots  echoing  on  the  walls,  the  sun,  the  distant 
river,  were  part  of  him  as  he  was  part  of  them:  they  were 
inside  him,  behind  the  shadows  of  his  brown  eyes,  and  not 
before  him.  He  would  see  a  certain  fern  when  he  needed  it 
for  dressing  pig,  and  another  from  which  pith  was  taken  to 
roll  thread,  but  the  rest  withdrew  into  the  landscape. 

The  experience  of  his  eye  was  not  his  own.  It  was  thou- 
sands of  years  old,  immutable,  passed  along  as  certainly  and 
inevitably  as  his  dark  skin,  the  cast  of  his  quick  face.  These 
characters  were  more  variable  than  experience,  for  experi- 
ence was  static  in  the  valley;  it  was  older  than  time  itself, 
for  time  was  a  thing  of  but  two  generations,  dated  by  moons 
and  ending  with  the  day  in  which  he  found  himself.  Before 
the  father  of  Weaklekek's  father  was  the  ancestor  of  the  peo- 
ple: his  name  was  Nopu,  and  he  came  from  the  high  moun- 
tains with  a  wife  and  a  great  bundle  of  living  things.  Nopu's 
children  were  the  founders  of  the  clans,  with  names  like 
Haiman,  Alua,  Kosi,  Wilil,  and  they  had  opened  the  life 
bundle  against  Nopu's  will,  releasing  the  mosquitoes  and  the 
snakes  upon  all  the  people,  the  dkuni,  who  came  after. 

Nopu  was  the  common  ancestor,  but  perhaps  he  was 
also  that  first  Papuan  who,  one  hour  in  the  long  infinity  of 
days,  from  the  forest  of  the  mountain  passes,  saw  the  green 
valley  of  the  Baliem  River  far  below  him  in  the  sunny 

4     • 


haze.  How  many  years,  or  centuries  of  years,  this  man  had 
wandered  out  of  Africa  and  Asia  may  never  be  known,  for 
he  traveled  lightly,  and  he  left  no  trail. 

Before  the  coming  of  Nopu,  in  the  millenniums  of  si- 
lence, the  greatest  of  the  valley's  creatures  was  a  bird,  the 
cassowary.  Birds  of  paradise,  red,  emerald,  golden,  and 
night-blue,  fluttered,  huffed,  and  screeched  among  the  fern 
and  orchid  gardens  of  the  higher  limbs.  Hawks  and  swiftlets 
coursed  the  torpid  airs,  and  the  common  sandpiper  of  Africa 
and  Eurasia  flew  south  like  a  messenger  from  another  earth 
to  teeter  on  the  margins  of  its  streams.  In  stands  of  great 
evergreen  araucaria,  in  oak-chestnut  forest  and  river  jungle, 
a  primitive  fauna  of  small  marsupials,  with  a  few  bats  and 
rodents,  prospered  in  habitats  long  since  pre-empted,  else- 
where on  the  earth,  by  the  cats  and  weasels,  dogs,  bears, 
hoofed  animals,  and  apes:  the  marsupials,  stranded  on  these 
mountain  outposts  of  the  Australian  continental  shelf  by  the 
wax  and  wane  of  ice-age  seas,  became  carnivores  and  in- 
sectivores  and,  in  the  wallabies  and  kangaroos,  strange  her- 
bivores of  the  high  grasslands. 

Then  that  first  man — perhaps  Nopu,  perhaps  another 
— reached  the  coast,  and  eventually  the  inner  mountains;  he 
occupied  the  valley,  with  his  women  and  children,  his  bow, 
bamboo  knife,  and  stone  adze.  Like  the  mountain  wallaby, 
the  cuscus,  and  the  phalanger,  he  had  cut  himself  off  from  a 
world  which  rolled  on  without  him.  The  food  in  the  valley 
forests  was  plentiful,  and  he  had  brought  with  him — or  there 
came  soon  after — the  sweet  potato,  dog,  and  pig.  The  jungle 
and  mountain,  the  wall  of  clouds,  the  centuries,  secured  him 
from  the  navigators  and  explorers  who  touched  the  coasts 
and  went  away  again;  he  remained  in  his  stone  culture.  In 
the  last  corners  of  the  valley,  he  remains  there  still,  under 
the  mountain  wall.  His  name  is  not  Nopu,  for  he  is  the  son 
of  Nopu's  son,  but  he  is  the  same  man. 

•   5 


So  now  lie  paused  to  take  in  his  surroundings,  stand- 
ing gracefully,  his  weight  balanced  on  his  right  leg  and  up- 
right spear.  His  right  hand,  holding  the  spear,  was  at  the 
level  of  his  chin,  and  the  spear  itself,  sixteen  feet  long,  rose 
to  a  point  which  drew  taut,  as  he  stood  there,  the  stillness 
of  the  forest.  The  spear  was  carved  from  the  red  wood  of 
the  yoli  myrtle,  and  a  pale  yoli,  its  smooth  bark  scaling  like 
reptilian  skin,  stood  like  the  leg  of  a  great  dinosaur  behind 
him. 

Weaklekek  was  darker  than  most  Dani,  a  dark  brown 
which  looked  black,  and  the  blackness  of  his  naked  body 
was  set  off  by  the  white  symmetries  of  his  snail-shell  bib. 
He  looked  taller  than  his  five  feet  and  a  half,  lean  and  cat- 
muscled,  with  narrow  shoulders  and  flat  narrow  hips.  At  rest 
on  the  long  spear,  he  gave  an  impression  of  indolent  grace,  a 
grace  by  no  means  gentle  but  rather  a  kind  of  coiling  which 
permitted  him  to  move  quickly  from  a  still  position. 

He  stood  there  watching,  watching.  The  landscape  as  it 
was,  had  always  been,  his  eye  shut  out.  The  stir  of  change, 
the  detail  out  of  place,  was  what  he  hunted:  a  distant  move- 
ment, a  stray  smoke,  a  silence  where  a  honey  eater  sang,  a 
whoop  of  warning.  Across  the  valley  other  men  stood  watch- 
ing at  this  moment,  under  the  long  spear,  for  today  there 
would  be  war. 

From  where  he  stood,  still  as  a  snake,  the  southern  terri- 
tories of  Kurelu's  Land  spread  before  him.  The  narrow  gully 
of  the  upper  Aike  dropped  away  on  his  left  hand,  the  hill 
brush  of  its  edges  giving  way  as  the  land  leveled  to  a  riv- 
erain forest  ruled  by  casuarina.  Before  him  rose  the  smoke  of 
morning  fires,  though  the  villages  themselves — Abukumo, 
Homaklep,  and  Wuperainma — were  not  visible.  On  his  right 
hand  the  cliff  curved  outward  from  the  valley  rim;  it  declined 
rapidly  to  a  rocky  hill,  and  finally  a  steep  grassy  slope,  which 
plummeted  for  several  hundred  feet  into  a  stand  of  giant 
6  m 


araucarias  at  its  foot.  The  three  villages  lay  in  a  kind  of 
pocket  in  the  mountain  flank,  between  the  steep  hill  and 
the  Aike  River. 

The  araucarias  were  straight  and  tall,  well  over  one  hun- 
dred feet,  with  tiers  of  branches  curving  upward,  and  nee- 
dles clustered  in  great  balls,  like  ornaments.  The  araucaria 
was  an  ancient  tree,  disappearing  from  the  valley,  from  the 
world;  each  needle  of  this  tree  grew  very  old,  refracting 
the  sparkle  of  the  dew  for  forty  years  and  more. 

Directly  below  Wuperainma  a  small  wood  surrounded 
lowland  brooks.  The  far  part  of  the  wood  could  be  seen  from 
where  he  stood,  and  beyond  it  a  fringe  of  long-grass  savanna, 
scattered  with  bushes,  sloped  to  the  bottom  lands  and  drain- 
age ditches  of  the  sweet-potato  fields.  The  bed  of  purple, 
veined  by  silver  water,  spread  unbroken  for  a  mile,  ending 
at  a  far  line  of  trees.  Beyond  the  trees  a  marshy  swale  marked 
the  frontier;  it  continued  into  no  man's  land,  surrounding  a 
low  rocky  rise,  the  Waraba,  and  the  near  face  of  a  pyramidal 
hill,  the  Siobara.  The  Siobara  stood  in  Wittaia  territory,  and 
Wittaia  fields  and  villages  lay  to  both  sides  of  it.  Behind  the 
Siobara  a  hairy  spine  of  casuarina  marked  the  course  of  the 
Baliem  along  the  valley  floor,  and  beyond  the  river  a  sub- 
sidiary valley  mounted  steeply  to  the  cloud  forest  beneath 
the  western  walls. 

The  trail  wound  down  the  slopes  toward  Wuperainma, 
passing  alternately  through  low  woodland  and  open  brush; 
the  bare  feet  of  many  years  had  beaten  away  the  grass  and 
the  thin  topsoil,  laying  bare  the  chalky  white  of  a  fine  quartz- 
itic  sand.  When  dry,  this  sand  was  as  soft  as  powder,  but  in 
the  rain  it  glazed  to  a  smooth  hardness.  The  white  sand 
erupted  in  great  spots  across  the  valley,  and  from  where 
Weaklekek  walked  three  patches  of  it  could  be  seen,  like 
snowfields,  at  the  base  of  the  Siobara  and  on  the  farther  hills 
to  the  southwest 


The  limestone  soil  supported  many  plants  in  various 
stages  of  new  flowering.  Flowering  and  fading  occurred  in 
the  same  plant  at  once,  the  blossoms  and  burning  leaves,  for 
there  was  no  autumn  in  the  valley.  The  leaves  died  one  by 
one  and  were  replaced,  so  that  the  foliage  of  each  plant  was 
brilliant  red  and  green  against  the  hillside.  The  equatorial 
monsoons  which  brought  a  rainy  season  to  the  coasts  had 
small  effect  here  in  the  highlands;  from  moon  to  moon,  the 
rainfall  varied  little.  Winter,  summer,  autumn,  spring  were 
involuted,  turning  in  upon  themselves,  a  slow  circling  of 
time. 

Weaklekek  moved  swiftly  down  the  mountain.  At  a  cer- 
tain point  he  paused  and  called  out  toward  the  cliff — W0- 
AK-le-kek!  And  when  the  voice  returned  to  him,  AK-le-kek?- 
le-kek,  he  grinned  uneasily,  for  this  was  the  voice  of  his  own 
spirit.  On  the  lower  slopes  the  pigeon,  yoroick,  called  its  own 
name  dolefully,  and  from  far  below,  where  the  sun  was  shin* 
ing,  the  bird  was  answered  by  the  high  voice  of  a  boy. 


•  At  dawn  that  morning  the  enemy  began  chanting, 
and  the  chant,  hoo,  hoo,  hoo,  ua,  ua,  rolled  across  the  fields 
toward  the  mountains.  The  fields  were  tattered  still  with 
mist,  and  a  cloud  hung  on  the  valley  floor,  submerging  the 
line  of  trees  at  the  frontier.  A  man  ran  past  the  wood  of 
araucaria,  called  Homuak  after  the  spring  which,  rising  si- 
lently from  among  the  bony  roots,  flows  out  and  dies  in  the 
savanna;  Homuak  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  hill  near  Wu- 
perainma.  He  cried  out  urgently,  his  voice  a  solitary  echo  of 
the  wail  from  behind  the  mist.  The  call  was  taken  up  on  the 
8  • 


far  side  of  the  hill  and  trailed  off  northward  to  the  villages 
of  Kurelu. 

The  wood  of  Homuak  was  strangely  empty.  The  black 
robin  chat  and  a  yellow  whistler  sang  in  the  evergreens,  in 
the  rich  voice  of  new  nesting,  and  the  night's  rain  fell  in  soft 
drops  from  the  needles.  High  behind  the  still  village  of  Wu- 
perainma  the  sun  rolled  up  onto  the  rim,  and  the  mists  creep- 
ing on  the  fields  slowly  dispersed.  Still  the  Wittaia  chanted, 
and  the  answer  grew  in  all  the  villages. 

A  puna  lizard,  two  feet  long,  with  dinosaur  spines  and 
heavy  head,  crept  out  along  a  branch  of  araucaria,  seek- 
ing the  sun;  its  long  whip  tail,  trailing  behind,  slid  silently 
on  the  rough  bark. 

Small  bands  of  warriors  were  moving  out  toward  the 
frontier.  The  men  carried  their  spears  and  bows  and  arrows, 
and  the  boys  ran  behind  them.  A  figure  climbed  slowly  to 
the  top  of  a  kaio,  one  of  the  many  lookout  towers  visible 
from  the  wood;  the  kaio  is  built  of  tall  young  saplings  bound 
into  a  column  by  liana  thongs,  and  rises  to  a  stick  platform 
some  twenty-five  feet  above  the  ground.  The  kaios,  erected 
in  defense  against  raids  upon  the  gardens,  march  across  the 
distances  like  black  lonely  trees.  At  the  base  of  each  kaio 
is  a  thatched  shelter,  and  here  the  warriors  assembled,  lean- 
ing their  spears  against  the  roof. 

Beyond  the  kaios  and  gardens  lies  a  thin  woodland, 
then  a  swale  of  cane  and  sedge,  and  at  the  far  edge  of 
the  swale  a  solitary  conifer.  The  tree  marks  the  edge  of  the 
Tokolik,  a  grassy  fairway  nearly  two  miles  long,  paralleling 
the  frontier.  The  Tokolik  is  the  high  ground  of  the  swamp 
of  no  man's  land;  on  its  far  side  a  brushy  bog  occurs,  scat- 
tered with  dark  tannin  pools  and  reeds  and  sphagnum. 
The  bog  extends  to  the  base  of  a  low  ridge,  the  Waraba, 
and  beyond  the  ridge  is  the  sudden  pyramid,  the  Siobara, 
like  a  great  fore  bulwark  of  the  enemy.  In  the  middle 

•     9 


of  the  Tokolik,  just  southward  of  the  tree,  lies  a  shallow 
grassy  pool.  Small  streams  have  been  diked  to  form  the  sev- 
eral pools  on  the  frontier;  black  ducks  with  striped  cin- 
namon heads  frequent  the  pools,  and  the  people  know  that 
the  clamor  of  their  flight  might  betray  a  raiding  party  of 
the  enemy. 

From  the  foothills  at  the  south  end  of  the  fairway  the 
smoke  of  a  Wittaia  fire  curled,  to  lose  itself  at  last  against  the 
roll  of  cloud  which  cut  the  valley  floor  from  the  dark  rim. 
Near  the  fire  Wittaia  warriors  were  ranked,  their  spear 
tips  clean  as  lances  on  the  sky.  A  larger  group,  conven- 
ing on  the  Tokolik  itself,  raised  a  new  howling,  broken  by 
rhythmic  barks.  Before  the  sun  had  warmed  the  air,  three 
hundred  or  more  Wittaia  had  appeared. 

At  the  north  end  of  the  Tokolik  there  is  an  open 
meadow.  Here  the  main  body  of  the  Kurelu  were  gathering. 
Over  one  hundred  had  now  appeared,  and  at  a  signal  a 
group  of  these  ran  down  the  field  to  the  reedy  pool.  On  the 
far  bank  a  party  of  Wittaia  danced  and  called.  The  enemies 
shouted  insults  at  each  other  and  brandished  spears,  but  no 
arrows  flew,  and  shortly  both  sides  retired  to  their  rear  posi- 
tions. Because  the  war  was  to  be  fought  on  their  common 
frontier,  the  majority  of  the  Kurelu  were  Kosi-Alua  and 
Wilihiman-Walalua — the  southern  Kurelu.  The  northern 
warriors  were  not  obliged  to  fight,  but  the  best  men  of  even 
the  most  distant  villages  would  appear. 

The  sun  had  climbed  over  the  valley,  and  its  light 
flashed  on  breastplates  of  white  shells,  on  white  headdresses, 
on  ivory  boars'  tusks  inserted  through  nostrils,  on  wands  of 
white  egret  feathers  twirled  like  batons.  The  alarums  and 
excursions  fluttered  and  died  while  warriors  came  in  across 
the  fields.  The  shouted  war  was  increasing  in  ferocity,  and 
several  men  from  each  side  would  dance  out  and  feign  at- 
tacks, whirling  and  prancing  to  display  their  splendor.  They 

70     B 


were  jeered  and  admired  by  both  sides  and  were  not  shot 
at,  for  display  and  panoply  were  part  of  war,  which  was 
less  war  than  ceremonial  sport,  a  wild,  fierce  festival.  Ter- 
ritorial conquest  was  unknown  to  the  akuni;  there  was 
land  enough  for  all,  and  at  the  end  of  the  day  the  war- 
riors would  go  home  across  the  fields  to  supper.  Should 
rain  come  to  chill  them,  spoil  their  feathers,  both  sides 
would  retire.  A  day  of  war  was  dangerous  and  splendid, 
regardless  of  its  outcome;  it  was  a  war  of  individuals  and 
gallantry,  quite  innocent  of  tactics  and  cold  slaughter.  A 
single  death  on  either  side  would  mean  victory  or  defeat. 
And  yet  that  death — or  two  or  three — was  the  end  purpose 
of  the  war,  and  the  Kurelu,  in  April,  were  enraged.  Two 
moons  before,  three  wives  of  the  Haitnan  kain  Maitmo,  with 
another  woman  and  a  man,  had  gone  off  to  a  pig  feast  held 
by  clansmen  in  a  nearby  tribe;  on  their  way  they  had  been 
killed  by  the  Wittaia,  and  though  the  Kurelu  had  come  off 
best  in  the  wars  since,  the  score  was  not  yet  evened. 

Toward  midmorning  a  flurry  of  arrows  was  exchanged, 
and  the  armies,  each  three  or  four  hundred  strong,  withdrew 
once  more.  But  soon  a  great  shout  rose  up  out  of  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  Kurelu  answered  it  exultantly,  hoo~ah-h,  hoo- 
ah~h,  hua,  hua,  hua,  like  a  pack  cry  of  wild  dogs.  From  the 
base  of  the  tree  the  advance  parties  ran  to  the  hillock  at  the 
edge  of  the  reed  pool,  mustered  so  close  that  the  spears 
clashed.  More  companies  came  swiftly  from  the  rear  posi- 
tions, bare  feet  drumming  on  the  grass.  Here  and  there 
flashed  egret  wands,  or  a  ceremonial  whisk;  the  whisk  was 
made  of  the  great  airy  feathers  of  the  cassowary  bound  tight 
by  yellow  fiber  of  an  orchid.  The  wands  and  whisks  were 
waved  in  the  left  hand,  while  the  spears  were  borne  at  shoul- 
der level  in  the  right.  Four  men  had  black  plumes  of  the 
saber-tailed  bird-of -paradise  curling  two  feet  or  more  above 
their  heads;  at  the  bases  of  these  plumes  shone  feathers  of 


parrots  and  other  brilliant  birds,  carmine  and  emerald  and 
yellow-gold,  fixed  to  a  high  crown  of  fur  and  fiber. 

All  wore  headdresses  of  war.  There  were  thin  white 
fiber  bands,  and  broad  pandanus  bands  with  the  brown, 
gray,  or  yellow  fur  of  cuscus,  opossum,  and  tree  kangaroo. 
There  were  crowns  of  flowers  and  crowns  of  feathers,  hawk, 
egret,  parrot,  parakeet,  and  lory.  Feather  bands  were  stuck 
upon  the  forehead,  black  and  shiny  with  smoke  and  grease, 
and  matched  pairs  of  large  black  or  white  feathers  shot 
straight  forward  above  the  ears.  Most  common  of  all  was  a 
white  solitary  plume,  bound  to  the  forehead  by  its  quill. 

On  the  black  breasts  lay  bibs  made  up  of  the  white  faces 
of  minute  snail  shells:  the  largest  bibs  contained  hundreds 
of  snails.  Most  of  these  were  fastened  to  the  throat  by  a  col- 
lar of  white  cowrie  shells,  and  some  of  the  men  wore,  in  ad- 
dition, a  section  of  the  huge  baler  shell,  called  mikak;  this 
spoon-shaped  piece,  eight  inches  long  or  more,  was  worn 
with  its  white  concave  surface  upward,  just  beneath  the 
chin.  Over  the  centuries,  the  shells  had  come  up  from  the 
coast  on  the  obscure  mountain  trade  routes;  they  were  the 
prevailing  currency  of  the  valley,  and  a  single  rnikak  would 
purchase  a  large  pig. 

Few  of  the  men  were  entirely  without  decoration.  Even 
the  youngest  warriors,  the  long-legged  elege  of  fourteen  to 
eighteen,  wore  strings  of  snails,  or  a  lone  feather  in  the 
dense  wool  of  their  hair.  But  here  and  there  were  naked 
men — naked,  that  is,  but  for  the  basic  dress  of  every  day, 
worn  by  all  warriors  in  addition  to  the  shells  and  fur  and 
feathers:  the  tight  armlets  of  the  pith  of  bracken  fern, 
braided  beautifully  upon  the  wrist  or  just  above  the  elbow; 
black  fiber  strings,  one  or  more,  worn  at  the  throat;  and  the 
horim,  an  elongated  gourd  worn  by  all  but  the  smallest 
boys  upon  the  penis.  The  horim  is  tied  in  an  erect  position 
by  a  fine  thread  of  twig  fiber  secured  around  the  chest;  a 

12    • 


second  thread  is  looped  through  a  small  hole  in  the  horim 
and  down  around  the  scrotum.  The  horim  is  often  long 
enough  to  extend  past  its  owner's  nipples,  and  is  sometimes 
curled  smartly  at  the  tip;  many  are  decorated  with  a  dan- 
gling hank  of  fur. 


The  advance  warriors  swept  forward  past  the  pool,  re- 
flections writhing  on  the  windless  water.  The  clamor  in- 
creased as  the  Wittaia  came  on  to  meet  them,  led  by  a  figure 
whose  paradise  plumes  swayed  violently  above  a  head  from 
which  white  feathers  sprayed;  he  wore  a  boar's  tusk  through 
his  nostrils,  hanging  down  like  a  white  mustache.  Both  mikak 
and  shell  bib  gleamed  upon  his  breast,  and  staring  white 
circles  were  painted  around  his  eyes. 

Two  armies  of  four  to  five  hundred  each  were  now  op- 
posed, most  of  the  advance  warriors  armed  with  bows,  a  few 
with  spears.  They  crouched  and  feinted,  and  the  first  ar- 
rows sailed  high  and  lazily  against  the  sky,  increasing  in 
speed  as  they  whistled  down  and  spiked  the  earth.  Shrieks 
burst  from  the  Wittaia,  and  a  wounded  Kurelu  was  carried 
back,  an  arrow  through  his  thigh;  he  stared  fearfully,  both 
hands  clenched  upon  a  sapling,  as  two  older  men  worked  at 
the  arrow  and  cut  it  out.  Soon  a  second  man  returned,  astride 
the  shoulders  of  a  comrade,  for  this  is  the  way  those  wounded 

•     73 


badly  are  taken  from  the  field.  The  battle  waned,  renewed, 
and  waned  again;  the  fighting  was  desultory.  The  day  was 
hot  and  humid,  and  as  war  demands  a  great  amount  of 
heroic  leaping  and  running  the  warriors  very  much  dislike 
the  heat.  But  soon  the  Wittaia  began  a  chanting,  heightened 
by  shrill  special  wails  used  little  by  the  Kurelu — 

dtchyuh,  dtchyuh,  dtchyuh — woo-ap,  woo-ap 
woo-r-d-a,  woo-r-d-a 


and  the  Kurelu  ran  down  the  Tokolik  to  battle,  in  a  flying 
avalanche  of  feet,  spears  balanced  at  the  right  shoulder,  tips 
angled  down.  Fighting  broke  out  in  the  swampy  brush  to- 
ward the  Waraba,  and,  as  the  line  swayed  back  and  forth, 
the  bush  fighters  remained  where  they  were,  crouched  down 
in  ambush.  A  Wittaia  low  behind  a  bush,  thinking  himself 
unseen,  leapt  high  with  a  screech  as  a  long  spear  arched 
through  the  bush  and  caromed  off  him;  he  darted  away, 
too  shaken  to  retrieve  it,  for  it  had  nearly  run  him  through. 

Now  a  shout  of  derision  burst  from  the  Kurelu.  On  the 
crest  of  the  Waraba,  two  hundred  yards  away,  above  the 
battle  ground,  thirty-odd  warriors  stood  in  silhouette.  These 
were  men  of  the  Huwikiak  clans,  from  a  country  two  hours 
distant,  on  the  far  side  of  the  Baliem.  The  territory  of  the 
Wittaia  borders  on  the  river,  and  the  Huwikiak  are  Wittaia 
allies.  These  men  had  walked  far  for  the  fighting.  They 
streamed  down  the  bank  into  the  swamp  to  join  the  battle. 

In  the  early  afternoon  there  came  a  prolonged  lull.  The 
number  of  warriors  was  still  increasing  on  both  sides,  and 
massed  legions  were  spaced  back  along  the  Tokolik  for 
nearly  a  mile  in  both  directions.  Rainstorms,  like  dirty  smoke, 
filled  the  high  mountain  passes,  but  the  clouds  hung  back 
along  the  walls.  At  the  edge  of  the  field  a  young  warrior 
sighed  in  agony  as  an  arrow  with  a  long,  toothed  tip  was 
worked  from  his  forearm  with  a  bamboo  sliver. 
14  m 


A  wind  sprang  forward  from  the  east,  and  the  sky 
darkened.  As  if  caught  by  the  suspense  before  a  rain,  the 
warriors  by  the  pool  grew  tense,  and  a  Wittaia  whoop,  break- 
ing the  silence,  was  hurled  back  on  waves  of  sound.  A  harrier 
hawk  with  a  black  head,  coursing  the  battleground,  flared 
off  and  away. 

The  men  assembled  in  their  war  parties,  and  the  rear 
groups  closed  behind  them.  A  warrior  passing  the  wounded 
boy  seized  the  bloody  arrow  as  it  was  twisted  free  and  ran 
with  it  toward  the  front:  ordinarily  the  arrow  is  kept  by  the 
wounded  man,  and  the  old  man  who  had  removed  it  shook 
his  head,  as  if  shocked  by  this  breach  of  custom,  moving  off 
toward  the  rear.  The  boy,  deserted,  stood  up  shakily,  staring 
at  the  blood  running  away  between  his  fingers.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  proud,  and  the  pride  showed. 

A  man  without  valor  is  kepu — a  worthless  man,  a  man- 
who-has-not-killed.  The  kepu  men  go  to  the  war  field  with 
the  rest,  but  they  remain  well  to  the  rear.  Some  howl  insults 
and  brandish  weapons  from  afar,  but  most  are  quiet  and  in- 
obtrusive,  content  to  lend  the  deadwood  of  their  weapons 
to  the  ranks.  The  kepu  men  are  never  jeered  or  driven  into 
battle — no  one  must  fight  who  does  not  choose  to — but  their 
position  in  the  tribe  may  be  determined  by  their  comport- 
ment on  the  field.  Unless  they  have  strong  friends  or  family, 
any  wives  or  pigs  they  may  obtain  will  be  taken  from  them 
by  other  men,  in  the  confidence  that  they  will  not  resist;  few 
kepu  men  have  more  than  a  single  wife,  and  many  of  them 
have  none. 

A  kain  with  long  hair  in  twisted  cordy  strings  stalked 
forward,  followed  by  another  whose  shoulders  were  daubed 
with  yellow  clay.  U-mue  came,  in  his  huge  mikak  and  tall 
paradise  headdress,  black  grease  gleaming  in  the  hollows 
of  his  collarbones:  the  miraculous  pig  grease,  blackened  by 
the  ash  of  grasses,  is  applied  by  all  warriors  whenever  it  is 

•     15 


available,  for  it  is  sanctified  by  ceremony  and  contributes 
to  morale  and  health  as  well  as  good  appearance.  It  is  worn 
by  most  men  in  their  hair  and  on  their  foreheads,  and  some- 
times in  a  broad  bold  band  across  the  cheekbones  and  the 
nose,  but  U-mue  smears  it  all  over  his  head  and  shoulders, 
producing  a  black  demonic  sheen.  He  moved  separately 
from  the  rest,  for  he  claims  to  be  a  solitary  fighter,  with  a 
taste  for  the  treacherous  warfare  of  the  underbrush.  In  truth, 
he  is  rarely  seen  in  action,  and  his  claim  to  five  kills  is  treated 
with  more  courtesy  than  respect.  Among  the  warriors  the 
numbers  of  kills  are  well  established  and  are  an  important 
measure  of  degree  of  kainship. 

Despite  his  claims,  U-mue  is  not  thought  of  as  a  war 
kain:  he  is  the  village  kain  of  Wuperainma  and  the  political 
kain  of  the  clan  Wilil  in  the  southern  Kurelu.  The  positions 
of  war,  village,  and  political  kain  are  quite  separate,  though 
all  may  be  combined  in  the  same  man:  Wereklowe,  the  vil- 
lage kain  of  Abulopak,  is  also  political  and  war  kain  of  the 
clan  Alua,  and  one  of  the  most  powerful  men  in  all  the  tribe. 
Above  the  kains  of  all  the  clans  is  the  great  kain  Kurelu,  and 
below  them  are  the  lesser  and  younger  men  with  varying 
degrees  of  kainship,  based  on  property  as  well  as  valor, 
family  as  well  as  worth.  U-mue,  with  four  wives  and  eleven 
pigs,  is  a  rich  man,  and  his  wealth,  in  company  with  his  am- 
bition and  a  rare  gift  for  intrigue,  has  brought  him  power. 

The  fighting  was  closer  and  more  vicious  than  that  of 
the  early  skirmishes.  More  than  a  hundred  men  were  actually 
in  combat,  as  opposed  to  the  twenty  or  thirty  who  had  pre- 
viously run  out  in  the  brief  forays:  the  cries  resounded  to  a 
strange,  monotonous  rhythm  of  twanged  rattan  bowstrings. 
The  lines  remained  some  fifty  feet  apart,  but  a  few  warriors 
moved  out  on  the  middle  ground,  crouched  low,  or  down 
into  the  brushy  swamp,  stalking  with  spears.  This  is  the  dan- 
gerous fighting,  for  few  men  are  killed  by  the  thin  bamboo 

76    • 


arrows.  Some  may  die  afterward,  but  it  is  the  spear  which 
usually  accounts  for  the  rare  kills  made  on  the  battlefield 
itself.  The  spear  fighters  in  the  brush  beneath  the  Waraba 
kept  low,  for  an  arrow  sailed  at  every  upraised  head.  On  the 
Tokolik,  the  battle  line  wavered  back  and  forth,  and  at  one 
point  the  Kurelu  were  swept  back  to  the  pool.  Kurelu  him- 
self came  forward  then,  and  his  men  rallied.  When  the  for- 
mer line  had  been  restored,  the  old  man  returned  to  the  rear 
companies. 

Seated  among  the  taller  kains,  Kurelu  looks  shrunken 
and  obscure.  The  scars  of  an  ancient  fire  burn  have  pinched 
his  chest,  and  his  dress  is  old  and  brown  and  simple.  His 
face  is  intelligent  and  reflective,  almost  shy,  and  its  power 
is  not  readily  perceived.  But  Kurelu's  gentle  smile  is  private, 
and  his  eyes  are  cold  and  deep,  like  small  holes  leading  to 
infinity. 

Each  little  while  a  wounded  man  was  carried  back.  One 
of  these  was  Ekitamalek  of  the  Kosi-Alua,  with  an  arrow  in 
the  breast.  Ekitamalek  would  die.  The  battle  flew  back  and 
forth  until,  toward  midafternoon,  another  long  lull  occurred. 
An  hour  passed,  and  the  warriors  of  the  far  villages  started 
off  in  single  file  for  home.  But  on  an  instant  fighting  broke 
out  again.  It  was  led  this  time  by  Weaklekek,  who  was  a  war 
kain  of  the  clan  Alua  and  one  of  the  great  warriors:  Weak- 
lekek, with  his  broad  brow  and  mighty  grin,  was  presently 
in  mild  disgrace,  having  missed  a  fine  chance  in  the  last  war 
to  kill  a  Wittaia  with  his  spear.  As  it  was,  he  had  found  him- 
self cut  off  and  was  saved  at  the  last  moment  only  by  a 
wild  foray  and  flurry  of  arrows  shot  by  two  of  his  men. 

A  number  of  warriors  had  now  been  wounded,  but  no 
one  had  been  killed  on  either  side,  and  the  fighting  continued 
until  dusk.  The  warriors  whooped  and  ducked  and  came  up 
grinning  in  an  access  of  nervous  ferocity,  much  like  the  boys 
with  their  grass  spears  on  the  homeward  paths  of  twilight. 

•     17 


•  The  four  wives  owned  by  U-mue  do  not  all  live  in 
Wuperainma,  partly  because  one  or  more  must  tend  his  pigs 
up  on  the  mountain,  and  partly  because  Hugunaro  and  Eka- 
puwe  fill  the  village  with  their  fighting.  In  consequence, 
Ekapuwe,  who  is  pregnant,  has  been  sent  to  the  pig  village 
of  Lokoparek,  while  the  other  three  work  in  their  husband's 
fields. 

U-mue's  wives  and  their  small  children  share  two  con- 
ical huts  called  ebeais.  The  ebeai,  or  woman's  round  house, 
is  perhaps  ten  feet  in  diameter  and  eight  feet  high.  The 
lower  floor  is  built  a  foot  or  so  above  the  ground,  and  the 
sleeping  loft  about  four  feet  above  that:  the  loft  is  entered 
through  a  square  hole  in  the  ceiling.  Both  floors  are  carpeted 
with  grass  straw  but  are  otherwise  unfurnished.  In  the  cen- 
ter of  the  ground  floor  is  a  hearth,  which  is  delimited  by  four 
wood  uprights  at  its  corners.  The  uprights,  which  help  sup- 
port the  ceiling,  also  prevent  people  from  rolling  into  the 
fire:  this  a  common  accident  among  small  children,  and 
many  akuni  bear  the  scars  of  it,  including  Kurelu  himself. 
The  smoke  of  the  fire  must  escape  through  a  small  doorway 
giving  on  the  yard;  outside  the  doorway,  under  the  hanging 
fringe  of  the  thatch  roof,  is  a  small  area  where  two  people, 
one  on  each  side,  may  squat  out  of  the  rain. 

The  ebeais  of  U-mue's  wives  are  two  of  five  in  the  long 
yard:  two  others  belong  to  Loliluk,  and  one  to  Ekali.  Across 
from  the  row  of  ebeais  is  the  communal  cooking  house,  an 
airy  rectangular  shed  with  a  peaked  roof  of  thatch  and  sev- 
eral doorways;  though  only  six  feet  wide,  it  is  over  sixty  feet 
in  length,  with  three  supporting  posts  from  ground  to  ridge- 
pole. The  smoke  escapes  it  through  doorways,  walls,  and 

18    • 


roof,  rising  with  the  steam  of  the  wet  thatch  to  mingle  with 
the  ground  clouds  of  early  morning. 

Hugunaro  crossed  from  her  hut  at  daylight  to  prepare 
her  fires.  Morning  hiperi — hiperi,  or  sweet  potato,  is  the  basic 
food,  so  much  so  that  hiperi  nan,  the  "hiperi-eating,"  is  syn- 
onymous with  "meal" — are  roasted  at  the  fire's  edge,  and 
the  children  are  sent  with  them  eventually  to  the  men's 
pilai,  a  communal  hut  like  a  very  large  ebeai  which  stands  at 
the  head  of  the  yard,  opposite  the  entrance:  the  men  ordi- 
narily rise  later  than  the  women  and  remain  in  the  pilai  by 
the  hearth  until  the  sun  is  well  up  from  behind  the  cliff  and 
the  dank  morning  chill  abated. 

Their  meal  finished,  Hugunaro  sent  her  daughter  with 
the  other  children  to  tend  the  pigs,  which  dwell  in  low  sheds 
divided  into  separate  stalls:  the  pig  sheds  may  open  into  the 
rear  wall  of  an  ebeai,  with  the  nearest  stall  reserved  for  pig- 
lets or  sick  animals  in  need  of  special  care,  but  in  U-mue's 
yard  the  two  sheds  are  separate  structures  in  protected  cor- 
ners, with  one  end  of  each  facing  directly  on  the  yard.  Each 
yard  normally  contains  one  pilai  and  one  cooking  shed,  five 
or  six  ebeais,  and  one  or  more  pig  sheds,  depending  on  the 
prosperity  of  the  inhabitants,  all  of  these  facing  on  a  com- 
mon ground  and  surrounded  by  a  fence  of  palings;  the  vil- 
lage fences,  as  well  as  those  surrounding  outer  gardens,  are 
crested  invariably  with  straw,  designed  to  protect  the  raw 
fence  wood  from  rot.  Small  plots  or  borders  of  tobacco, 
sugar  cane,  gourds,  ginger,  and  other  special  plants  are  kept 
within  the  fence,  where  they  may  be  guarded. 

The  entire  enclosure,  with  its  own  entrance  from  out- 
side, is  called  a  silL  Sometimes  an  entrance  is  boarded  up 
and  the  fencing  between  two  silis  taken  down,  establishing 
a  common  yard;  in  this  case  there  are  usually  two  pilais  and 
two  cooking  sheds,  with  a  corresponding  increase  in  the 
dwellings  of  pigs  and  women.  A  village  may  be  composed 

•     79 


of  one  or  more  silis,  depending  on  its  age  and  its  importance, 
though  there  are  rarely  more  than  three.  Wuperainma,  an 
important  village,  can  boast  four,  but  one  of  these  is  pres- 
ently abandoned.  As  is  often  the  case,  the  fence  of  the  aban- 
doned sili  has  been  maintained,  and  the  grounds  have  been 
turned  to  small  garden  plots  as  well  as  a  grove  of  banana 
trees.  Bananas  are  also  grown,  sometimes  in  company  with 
pandanus,  in  weedy  corners  between  silis,  which  tend  to  be 
erratic  in  their  alignment.  The  warm  green  of  the  great 
banana  fronds,  wavering  on  the  colder  greens  of  the  mid- 
mountain  landscape,  may  signal  the  presence  of  a  village 
even  when  the  gold  thatching  of  the  roofs  is  quite  obscured. 

The  sun  had  burned  away  the  mists,  and  the  men  had 
left  for  the  lookout  towers  to  mount  guard;  Hugunaro,  with 
the  other  women  living  in  the  sili,  went  out  into  the  fields. 
Aneake,  the  birdy  old  mother  of  U-mue  and  Yeke  Asuk, 
usually  goes  also,  but  today  she  remained  about  the  cooking 
shed,  tending  the  piglets  and  the  smallest  children.  Fre- 
quently these  children  accompany  their  mothers:  they  sit 
astride  the  women's  shoulders,  clinging  to  their  hair.  Infants 
are  always  borne  this  way,  while  new  babies  are  carried  in 
the  bottoms  of  the  nets  extending  down  the  mothers'  backs: 
here  in  the  dark  folds,  except  when  taken  to  the  breast,  they 
ruminate  all  day. 

The  nets  are  a  series  of  overlapping  bags,  woven  from 
brown  fiber  of  an  aquilaria  bush,  and  decorated  usually, 
though  not  always,  with  V  patterns  of  dark  red  and  purple 
dyes.  They  are  attached  by  a  headband  at  the  forehead, 
and  swing  freely  down  the  back,  over  the  hips;  a  full  load 
may  and  often  does  include  a  cargo  of  vegetables  at  the 
shoulder  blades,  a  small  pig  upside  down  toward  the  middle 
of  the  back,  and  a  small  baby  in  the  deepest  net,  jouncing 
along  on  the  behind. 

Empty  or  full,  the  nets  are  worn  at  all  times  by  the 
20  • 


women,  though  they  are  not  an  article  of  dress.  The  women's 
clothing  is  a  sort  of  skirt  of  fiber  coils  which  circles  the  body 
well  below  the  waist;  it  passes  under  the  bare  buttocks, 
sweeps  upward  to  cross  the  hipbones,  and  dips  down  again 
under  the  belly  in  a  kind  of  scanty  pelvic  apron.  The  coils 
are  slung  loosely  except  at  the  hipbones,  where  they  are 
tightly  bound  together;  it  is  the  pressure  here  which  just 
maintains  an  otherwise  precarious  arrangement.  The  new 
coils  may  be  very  pretty,  for  a  gray  base  of  palm  fiber  is 
overlaid  with  the  hard  shiny  inner  bark  of  two  woody  ground 
orchids,  one  with  red  blossoms  and  red  fiber  and  the  other 
with  purple  blossoms  and  a  fiber  of  bright  yellow.  The 
women's  skirts  are  woven  by  the  men,  who  are  the  artisans 
of  the  akuni. 

In  the  morning  the  nets  are  empty,  swaying  gracefully 
on  the  women's  backs. 

Hugunaxo  and  the  others  walked  in  single  file  down 
through  a  wood  of  small  trees  and  across  the  brook  and  out 
through  the  savanna  to  the  ditches  and  the  sweet-potato 
fields.  A  fairy-wren,  a  tiny  scrap  of  black  with  bright  white 
shoulders,  chased  another  through  yellow  pastels  of  rhodo- 
dendron. Each  woman  carried  her  digging  stick  across  her 
shoulders  and  behind  her  neck,  both  hands  raised  to  clutch 
it.  The  digging  stick — the  large  oarlike  stick  used  by  the 
men  and  the  smaller  pointed  one  used  by  the  women — is 
the  only  garden  tool  of  the  akuni- 

U-mue's  fields  are  far  away  toward  the  Tokolik,  and  the 
file  of  women  angled  back  and  forth  along  the  path,  which 
zigzags  out  among  the  ditches;  the  drainage  ditches,  which 
are  crossed  by  bridges  in  the  form  of  slim  poles,  serve  also 
to  deter  the  pigs  from  ravaging  the  gardens.  Hugunaro 
carried  a  tight  bundle  of  grass  thatch  containing  fire:  the 
fires  are  used  throughout  the  day  to  burn  dried  garden  trash. 
Arriving,  she  laid  this  on  the  ground  and  built  it  up  with  dry 

•    21 


weeds  and  vegetable  detritus.  Each  woman  then  took  fire 
to  the  area  which  she  was  working. 

Hugunaro  began  immediately,  using  her  digging  stick 
with  sharp  backhand  strokes,  like  paddling,  to  slash  the 
weeds;  later  she  would  break  the  ground  in  the  same  way. 
Her  digging  stick  is  about  five  feet  long,  pointed  sharply  at 
both  ends;  it  is  known  as  the  hiperi  spear,  for  it  must  serve 
also  as  a  weapon  in  the  event  that  the  women  are  attacked. 
Though  their  spears  would  be  no  match  for  those  of  Wittaia 
raiders,  the  women  in  concert  might  defend  themselves  just 
long  enough  for  help  to  reach  them  from  the  kaios. 

The  smoke  rose  slowly  from  the  fires,  and  all  across  the 
gardens,  on  both  sides,  small  white  plumes  broke  the  dark 
patterns  of  the  fields.  It  was  midmorning.  In  midafternoon 
the  men  would  take  up  their  spears  and  move  back  toward 
the  villages,  and  the  women  would  go  too.  There  were  only 
two  meals  in  the  day,  in  the  morning  and  the  evening,  and 
the  hiperi  must  now  be  cooked,  for  dark  would  come  in  a 
few  hours.  The  women  would  take  the  vegetables  harvested 
that  day  and  load  them  into  their  nets,  so  that,  trudging 
homeward,  they  looked  twice  the  bulk  of  the  skinny  crea- 
tures who  had  gone  out  in  the  morning. 

Hugunaro's  figure  is  typical  of  the  women,  who,  except 
when  pregnant,  are  little  fatter  than  the  men.  She  is  perhaps 
five  feet  tall,  with  small  shoulders  and  full  breasts,  small 
hips,  and  short,  thin,  childish  legs:  these  legs,  which  are 
characteristic,  seem  curiously  out  of  place  on  female  bodies 
otherwise  well  made.  She  is  a  pretty  woman,  with  bright 
brown  eyes  and  a  quick  mouth  and  a  wry,  strident  manner; 
in  her  stridence  and  quick  temper  she  resembles  the  preg- 
nant wife,  Ekapuwe,  which  accounts  in  part  for  their  mutual 
ill  feeling. 

Koalaro  is  older  than  the  other  wives  and  without  fire: 
she  is  of  the  mood  and  color  of  bare  earth.  The  young  wife, 


YuM,  has  no  child  as  yet,  though  she  looks  strong  and  willing. 
She  is  taller  than  the  rest,  high  in  the  breasts  and  heavy  in 
the  legs  and  hips,  for  her  labors  have  not  shrunk  her  to 
muscle.  Yuli  has  tight  little  eyes  in  a  large  and  stupid  face, 
and  her  loose  smile  is  playful  She  looks  as  if  she  had  a  secret, 
and  indeed  she  may:  not  long  ago  she  was  seized  while  in 
the  fields  and  taken  away  to  their  own  village  by  some  men 
of  the  Kosi-Alua.  After  three  days  she  came  back  of  her  own 
accord,  and  while  it  is  assumed  that  she  was  not  raped,  and 
even  that  no  intercourse  took  place,  U-mue  is  nonetheless 
very  angry  with  the  Kosi-Alua  and  plans  revenge. 


H  In  the  evening  fields  below  the  grove  of  arau- 
caria,  a  man  with  a  black  dog  was  hunting  a  tiny  quail. 
The  dog,  sharp-eared  and  bushy-tailed,  was  quick  and  small; 
it  came  with  the  akuni  long  ago  and  is  peculiar  to  the  high- 
lands. 

The  man,  carrying  a  throwing  stick,  followed  the  dog. 
His  arm  was  cocked.  There  were  four  boys  with  him,  the 
fleet  yegerek  of  seven  to  fourteen,  not  yet  warriors  and  no 
longer  children,  the  scouts  and  messengers,  the  swineherds 
and  the  carriers  of  weapons;  the  yegerek  were  armed  with 
short  sticks  of  their  own.  The  dog  pounced,  and  a  quail  flew. 
The  place  was  surrounded,  and  two  more  quail  flew  out,  the 
low  sun  gleaming  through  their  wings  as  they  whirred  down 
the  savanna.  None  were  struck  down,  and  the  group  trotted 
onward. 

The  boys  soon  tired  of  the  hunt.  They  broke  off  small 
spears  of  a  firm  grass  and  staged  a  war,  dancing  and  feinting 

m    23 


with  the  spears,  and  whooping,  before  darting  forward  to 
throw,  wrists  quick  as  snakes.  In  the  dusk  their  thin  bodies 
were  no  more  than  silhouettes,  outlined  against  the  distant 
hill  called  Siobara. 


•  The  warrior  Yeke  Asuk  of  Wuperainma  got  his 
name  when  still  a  boy.  Yeke  Asuk  means  "Dog  Ear"  and  re- 
fers to  a  gift  for  overhearing  word  of  any  activity  which 
might  lead  to  trouble,  such  as  raid  or  pig-theft,  and  tagging 
along  behind.  Yeke  Asuk,  volatile  and  hot-tempered  and  a 
sulker,  has  not  lost  his  taste  for  trouble  and  is  often,  these 
days,  at  the  root  of  it.  But,  as  U-mue?s  younger  brother,  he 
has  influence,  and  he  is  brave. 

Two  days  before,  on  the  Tokolik,  Yeke  Asuk  had  re- 
ceived a  scalp  wound  from  an  arrow.  The  wound  was  super- 
ficial and  no  longer  bothered  him,  and  he  sat  with  the  other 
men  around  the  hearth  in  U-mue's  pilai  until  the  sun  was 
high  over  the  cliff  behind  the  village.  U-mue  himself  had 
been  absent  since  the  night  before,  on  a  visit  to  his  pregnant 
wife  up  in  the  mountains. 

Each  morning,  when  their  sweet  potatoes  had  been 
eaten,  the  men  smoked  and  talked  in  the  dense  warmth  of 
the  hut,  and  performed  slow,  peaceful  work  of  manufacture 
and  repair.  Several  worked  together  in  repairing  a  shell  bib: 
the  shell  strings  lay  coiled  on  a  large  leaf,  and  next  to  the 
leaf  lay  a  supply  of  fiber  from  the  spiny  bamboo  as  well  as 
some  soft  aquilaria.  The  aquilaria  was  woven  across  strands 
of  bamboo  to  make  the  tough  bands  on  which  the  rows  of 
snail  shells  would  be  sewn. 


In  the  sleeping  loft  above,  EkaH  turned  softly.  The  ceil- 
ing of  thin  bamboo  shafts  supported  by  crossbeams  of  wood 
creaked  vaguely  with  his  movements.  Soon  a  leg  ap- 
peared out  of  the  ceiling  hole;  it  probed  blindly  for  the 
wooden  step  which,  polished  with  long  use  of  callused 
feet,  gleamed  in  the  pale  light  through  the  doorway. 

Ekali  took  a  place  behind  the  other  men,  who  squatted 
near  the  door  to  use  the  light.  At  the  hearth,  as  well  as  in 
the  loft  above,  one  is  closer  to  the  front  according  to  one's 
status — in  a  crowded  hut,  the  kepu  men  and  younger  boys 
move  to  the  rear.  A  tall,  smiling  man  with  a  confident  air, 
Ekali  is  kepu,  but  the  others  greeted  him  politely,  their  soft 
voices  passing  around  the  circle.  Ekali,  narak-a-laok,  they 
said,  taking  his  hand.  Narak,  narak.  From  the  shed  adjoining 
came  the  bumping  of  U-mue's  pigs,  the  consternation  of 
each  morning's  meeting  with  the  children. 

Yonokma  is  an  older  boy,  an  elege,  sixteen  or  seventeen; 
he  took  from  the  wall  an  arrow  shaft  of  cane  and  fitted  it 
with  a  long  tip,  but  the  binding  of  vine  needed  repair,  and 
Yonokma,  with  the  shiftlessness  of  his  age,  replaced  the  ar- 
row without  really  working  on  it.  As  the  young  brother  of 
U-mue's  wife  Koalaro,  Yonokma  stays  frequently  in  this  pilal 
Because  his  movements  are  indefinite — he  stays  as  often  at 
his  father's  pilai  in  Abulopak — his  name  signifies  "the  Wan- 
derer." 

Yonokma's  friend  Siloba  began  to  sing.  Siloba  comes  from 
the  village  of  Mapiatma,  on  the  far  side  of  the  wood,  but 
he  usually  sleeps  in  Wuperainma,  for  U-mue  is  his  nami.  All 
akuni  have  namis,  or  men  favorably  disposed  toward  them 
in  a  protective  and  generous  way;  the  nami  is  most  often 
the  child's  maternal  uncle,  though  the  relationship  is  not  au- 
tomatic, and  a  boy  may  have  more  namis  than  one.  The  nami 
relationship  is  the  warmest  of  all  family  ties.  A  child  will 
also  have  ceremonial  fathers — the  brothers,  often,  of  his  real 

•    25 


father.  Such  a  father  would  claim  Siloba — An-meke,  he 
would  say,  Mine,  grasping  his  horim — with  as  much  author- 
ity as  Siloba's  own  parent,  and,  in  fact,  the  distinction  be- 
tween true  and  ceremonial  is  thought  quite  unimportant — 
in  a  sense,  the  head  of  the  clan  is  the  father  of  all  in  it.  The 
ceremonial  father,  like  the  real  one,  is  apt  to  be  remote  and 
strict,  while  the  nami  is  indulgent. 

As  a  house  of  warriors — in  addition  to  Yeke  Asuk,  there 
are  Hanumoak  and  Loliluk,  and  the  boy  Yonokma  is  already 
a  fierce  fighter — the  pilai  is  stocked  heavily  with  arrows  and 
bows,  with  an  arsenal  of  spare  bowstrings,  bindings,  and  new 
arrow  points.  The  latter  objects  are  wrapped  in  neat  packets 
of  straw  or  banana  leaves  and  stored  in  the  rafters  or  hung 
along  the  walls.  Bundles  of  feathers,  packets  of  fibers,  a 
gourd  calabash  containing  small  fetish  objects,  a  net  bag  of 
tobacco,  some  stone  adzes,  a  bird-of -paradise  headdress  be- 
longing to  Hanumoak,  some  spare  horims,  and  a  men's  dig- 
ging stick  are  stacked  or  hung  against  the  walls  toward  the 
rear.  Attached  to  the  fire  frame,  near  the  ceiling,  are  a  set  of 
boar's  tusks  for  the  nostrils,  a  boar's-tusk  knife,  a  cane  mouth 
harp,  and  Yeke  Asuk's  armlets  of  brown  dog  fur.  By  the  side 
of  the  fire,  which  was  now  reduced  to  embers,  lay  long  bam- 
boo holders  for  the  tobacco,  and  a  small  wooden  tongs.  The 
tobacco,  wrapped  and  smoked  in  a  coarse  leaf,  is  called 
hanum;  Hanumoak,  "Tobacco  Bone,"  is  named  after  the 
holder. 

The  sun  had  pierced  the  mist  at  last  and  gleamed  in  the 
puddles  in  the  yard.  One  by  one,  the  men  left  the  dense 
warmth  of  the  hut.  Taking  their  spears — the  spears  are  too 
long  to  be  brought  into  the  pilai,  and  are  kept  outside — they 
wandered  toward  the  entrance  of  the  sili 

U-mue's  wife  Hugunaro,  squatting  in  a  doorway  of  the 
cooking  shed,  watched  the  departure  without  interest,  for 
she  watched  it  every  morning  of  her  life.  As  Siloba  slipped 

26    B 


past  her,  Hugunaro  hissed  at  him.  Siloba,  she  said  softly.  She 
beckoned  him  with  the  characteristic  gesture,  arm  extended, 
palm  down,  folding  her  fingers  down  and  back,  down  and 
back.  E-me,  erne.  Come.  She  handed  him  a  blackened  hiperi. 
Siloba  smiled,  a  quick,  shy  smile  of  thanks. 

The  warriors  went  down  through  the  wood  and  out 
across  the  fields  toward  U-mue's  kaio.  The  path  angled  back 
and  forth  among  the  dark  green  leaves  and  violet  trumpet 
flowers  of  the  sweet  potatoes.  Every  little  while  it  crossed 
one  of  the  drainage  ditches,  from  which  a  coarse  calla  lily 
erected  its  large  stalks;  the  corm  of  this  lily  supplies  the  vege- 
table of  Oceania  known  as  taro.  Beside  the  taro  plant  floated 
leaves  of  its  wild  relative,  a  small  water  lily.  Orange  dragon- 
flies  zipped  up  and  down  the  ditches,  clashing  in  mid-air 
with  a  small  dry,  harsh  electric  sound,  or  poising  suddenly 
on  a  leaf,  their  long  transparent  wings  cocked  forward.  Like 
the  drab  mountain  swiftlet  which  coursed  the  air  above 
them,  they  were  hunting  insects. 

U-mue  had  come  down  from  the  mountains  and  was  al- 
ready at  the  kaio.  He  wore  a  new  crown  of  white  feathers, 
taken  from  the  wing  linings  of  the  black  duck;  the  quills  had 
been  punched  through  a  strip  of  papery  pandanus  bark  to 
form  a  crown.  Ordinarily  the  men  do  not  wear  such  decora- 
tions to  the  kaio,  but  the  crown  was  a  new  one  and  U-mue 
is  vain.  To  go  with  the  crown,  he  wore  his  large  mikak  and 
fine  shell  bib,  with  a  string  of  cowries  hanging  down  his 
back.  A  fresh  band  of  black  grease  was  drawn  across  his  face, 
and  his  brow  was  also  greased  and  shiny.  Otherwise  his  dark 
skin  was  clean;  he  habitually  looks  cleaner  than  the  other 
men,  who  do  not  always  remove  the  fine  gray  scale  of  their 
own  grime,  nor  the  mud  flecks  on  their  lower  legs.  With 
U-mue  was  Apeore  of  Lokoparek,  a  taut-faced  warrior  with 
cold  browless  eyes. 

The  men  crept  beneath  the  shelter  and  hunched  around 

•    27 


the  fire.  On  most  days  they  would  have  rested  here  all  morn- 
ing, but  today  there  was  men's  garden  work:  though  the 
women  tend  the  gardens,  the  men  do  all  the  heavy  work  o£ 
creating  and  rebuilding  fields  and  ditches. 

Soon  all  but  U-mue  left  the  shelter.  They  had  on  the 
short  horims  worn  at  work,  and  the  few  wearing  shell  bibs 
turned  these  around  so  that  they  hung  down  behind.  In  a 
ditch  a  hundred  yards  away  other  men  had  already  collected, 
standing  in  water  over  their  knees.  They  reached  down  and 
dug  double  handfuls  of  mud  and  threw  these  up  upon  the 
banks,  where  older  men  packed  the  mud  around  each  hiperi 
plant.  Soon  nearly  twenty  were  splashing  in  the  ditch,  heav- 
ing and  sweating.  Hanumoak,  who  is  quick-witted  and  hand- 
some, paused  for  a  while  to  daub  some  gray  clay  on  his 
shoulders;  he  craned  his  head  around,  taking  pleasure  in  his 
own  appearance.  The  lame  man  Aloro  came  along  after  a 
while:  he  planted  his  spear  butt  in  the  earth  and,  sidling 
clumsily,  joined  the  others  in  the  ditch.  Aloro  was  greeted 
with  deference,  for  despite  his  twisted  leg  he  is  a  fanatic 
warrior;  it  was  Aloro  who,  with  Yeke  Asuk,  saved  the  life 
of  the  war  kain  Weaklekek  when  the  latter  was  cut  off  by 
the  enemy.  Though  both  Aloro  and  Yeke  Asuk  are  young 
warriors,  they  have  each  killed  two. 

Beyond  the  men  rose  a  pall  of  women's  fires.  This  morn- 
ing the  women  had  avoided  the  garden  where  the  men  la- 
bored, for  though  a  man  works  sometimes  with  his  wives, 
the  two  sexes  never  mix  in  larger  groups.  Once  in  a  while 
the  women,  in  apparent  approval  of  the  spectacle  in  the 
ditch,  would  laugh  loudly  among  themselves,  for  in  their 
cheerful  way  they  are  in  league  against  the  men. 

U-mue  climbed  slowly  and  sedately  to  the  top  of  the 
kaio  tower  and  sat  himself  upon  the  platform,  his  feathers 
gleaming  as  he  turned  his  head  against  the  sky.  U-mue  was 
worried  about  his  new  crown,  for  though  many  of  the  peo- 

28     • 


pie  broke  the  taboo,  the  use  of  the  wild  duck  in  any  way  was 
considered  wisa.  Certain  plants,  animals,  acts,  localities,  and 
other  phenomena  were  wisa — invested,  that  is,  with  super- 
natural power.  A  wisa  thing  was  not  necessarily  good  or  bad, 
but  neither  was  it  to  be  trifled  with  without  due  ceremony. 
U-mue  knew  that  the  great  kain  Wereklowe,  for  one, 
had  been  angered  by  his  use  of  duck  feathers.  A  man  who 
touched  this  bird,  according  to  Wereklowe,  lost  much  of  the 
keenness  of  his  sight  and  would  thus  be  unable  to  spy  out 
a  raiding  party  of  the  enemy. 


•  Just  south  of  the  village  of  Homaklep  a  small 
spur  of  the  mountain,  in  the  form  of  a  low  wooded  ridge, 
slides  out  onto  the  valley  floor  and  disappears.  The  village 
of  Abukumo,  half  deserted  now,  lies  on  this  ridge,  and  below 
Abukumo  is  a  small  wood.  The  wood  gives  on  a  grassy  knoll, 
with  a  small  grove  of  trees  shading  gray  boulders;  the  knoll  is 
called  Anelarok.  Below  the  south  flank  of  Anelarok  flows  a 
small  brushy  stream,  the  Tabara,  and  to  the  west  lie  the  open 
grasslands  and  the  gardens. 

Anelarok  lies  at  a  crossing  of  the  paths,  and  because  it 
commands  a  fine  view  of  the  valley  there  are  often  people, 
and  a  fire.  The  paths  lead  from  the  villages  to  the  Aike,  and 
from  the  fields  into  the  mountains;  the  least-used  is  the  one 
which  plunges  down  into  the  undergrowth  of  the  Tabara, 
crosses  the  stream  on  large  flat  stones,  and  climbs  again  on 
a  steep  slope  toward  the  land  of  the  Siep-Kosi.  This  path 
was  used  one  afternoon  to  take  a  wounded  Siep-Kosi  home 
to  his  own  country. 

•    29 


In  former  times  the  Siep  peoples  fought  separately  with 
both  Wittaia  and  Kurelu,  and  though  this  practice  proved 
too  costly,  their  warriors  still  wished  to  go  to  war.  The 
tribe  divided  into  factions,  one  of  which — the  Siep-Elortak — 
fought  henceforth  at  the  side  of  the  Wittaia,  and  the  other 
— the  Siep-Kosi — at  the  side  of  the  Kurelu,  This  warrior  had 
been  wounded  in  the  upper  chest,  fighting  on  the  Tokolik. 
Too  seriously  hurt  to  be  carried  across  the  hills,  he  had  lain 
for  many  days  in  Mapiatma.  Then  one  day  his  people  came 
for  him  and  took  him  home. 

Two  poles  were  lashed  parallel  with  vines,  and  the  man 
was  slung  between  them,  supported  under  the  arms  and 
knees.  His  body  was  swathed  in  leaves  and  lashed  securely; 
even  his  head  was  covered,  leaving  him  just  air  enough  to 
breathe.  He  was  borne  by  seven  men  across  the  fields  in 
front  of  Homuak,  down  through  the  woods,  and  up  over  the 
knoll  of  Anelarok.  The  journey  homeward  was  a  long  one, 
but  the  men  did  not  pause  at  Anelarok  to  smoke.  Some  Ku- 
relu were  there,  and  a  fire  burning,  but  the  Siep-Kosi  passed 
through  quickly.  The  Kurelu  and  the  Siep-Kosi,  enemies  in 
the  past,  could  readily  become  enemies  again. 

The  stretcher  jolted  down  across  the  Tabara  and  climbed 
again  on  the  far  side.  The  paths  were  steep  and  rocky  and 
slippery  with  the  rains,  and  the  seven  bearers  struggled  with 
their  load.  The  man  sat  still  as  a  green  mummy,  as  if  he  were 
long  dead.  Only  once,  when  the  caravan  faltered,  high  on 
the  far  slope,  did  a  slow  hand  rise  toward  the  green  head, 
hover  a  moment,  and  drop  away  again.  The  bearers  moved 
onward,  picking  their  way  toward  a  sky  gray  with  coming 
rain,  until  the  figures  were  as  small  as  ants  hauling  a  dead 
cricket. 

The  journey  was  watched  from  the  kaios  of  the  Kurelu. 
The  men  at  the  kaios  knew  about  the  journey,  as  the  akuni 
know  of  all  things  in  their  world.  An  event  in  the  lives  of 
30  m 


the  Kurelu  is  known  as  fast  as  a  boy  can  run  the  ditch  logs 
with  the  news,  but  no  boy  is  ever  sent.  The  word  bounds 
straight  across  the  fields  like  the  flight  of  the  brown  finches, 
from  village  to  path  to  garden — the  men's  heads  turn  in  the 
shadow  of  the  shelters,  the  women  straighten  to  rest  a  mo- 
ment on  their  sticks — in  a  series  of  small  whoops  as  pure  and 
unmistakable  as  the  flight  signals  of  the  birds.  The  people 
know  the  course  of  things,  for  the  course  of  things  may  be 
thousands  of  years  old,  and  all  they  really  need  to  hear  is 
the  one  word  which  changes;  the  event  does  not.  The  man's 
name  is  called,  with  the  high  whoop  which  relays  it  onward. 
The  wounded  man  had  come  of  his  own  accord  because 
he  wished  to  fight,  and  he  was  wounded  because  he  was  too 
brave  or  too  careless,  or  because  the  power  held  in  the  holy 
stones  of  his  people  had  not  worked  for  him.  This  too  was 
in  the  course  of  things.  The  Kurelu  would  be  sorry  if  he  died, 
and  they  would  weep  because  weeping  was  expected,  but  a 
large  part  of  the  sorrow  would  be  brought  about  by  the  sat- 
isfaction given  the  Wittaia.  The  Wittaia  knew  about  this 
warrior,  in  the  same  way  that  they  knew  about  each  enemy 
struck  in  the  body:  they  knew  his  name  and  village  and  his 
clan,  and  they  hoped  that  he  would  die.  But  it  now  seemed 
that  he  was  going  to  live,  and  in  a  short  tine  they  would 
know  this  too. 


•  In  the  morning,  when  the  sun  appeared  over  the 
valley,  the  warriors  trotted  along  beneath  the  mountain, 
bound  for  the  northern  wars.  Among  those  who  did  not  go 

•   3 1 


was  Yeke  Asuk.  He  was  not  quite  recovered  from  the  head 
wound  suffered  on  the  Tokolik,  and  he  had  private  business 
to  attend  to. 

Some  time  ago  a  man  from  a  village  in  the  northern 
Kurelu  had  trespassed  in  his  gardens.  This  is  a  most  serious 
offense,  and  Yeke  Asuk  had  stolen  three  of  the  man's  pigs  in 
compensation.  Two  of  the  pigs  had  been  speedily  consumed, 
but  recently  the  third  had  been  restolen  by  its  owner. 

To  redress  this  outrage,  Yeke  Asuk  traveled  to  the  vil- 
lage to  demand  the  pig's  return.  He  was  accompanied  by 
his  friend  Tegearek,  a  violent  man  who  shares  with  the  lame 
man  Aloro  the  war  leadership  of  the  clan  Wilil.  The  color  of 
both  Yeke  Asuk  and  Tegearek  is  golden-brown,  markedly 
lighter  than  the  average  though  by  no  means  unique,  and 
as  both  are  also  very  short  and  powerful,  they  made,  as  they 
set  off,  a  distinctive  pair. 

Yeke  Asuk,  less  than  five  feet,  is  probably  the  shortest 
of  male  akuni.  Limo,  a  kain  man  of  the  Kosi-Alua,  is  among 
the  tallest.  Limo  is  probably  five  feet  nine,  but  his  small 
shoulders  and  lithe  body,  more  typical  than  the  stumpy 
shape  of  Yeke  Asuk  and  Tegearek,  make  him  appear  weU 
over  six  feet  tall.  Many  other  warriors  seem  taller  than  their 
height:  this  is  especially  true  when  they  are  holding,  as  they 
often  are,  spears  three  times  their  own  length. 

.  The  pig  was  not  returned  to  Yeke  Asuk,  and,  as  circum- 
stances did  not  encourage  either  seizure  or  re-theft,  he  and 
Tegearek  went  home.  The  complaint  had  been  registered, 
to  justify  in  advance  any  action  that  might  be  taken  after- 
ward. There  was,  in  the  valley,  all  the  world  and  time. 


•  Uwar  and  Aku  came  down  along  the  wooded 
ridges,  carrying  on  their  heads  bundles  of  fagots  for  the  sili 
fires.  When  the  steep  slope  fell  away  toward  Wuperainma, 
they  rolled  the  fagots  down  the  hill,  and  the  bundles  leapt 
and  sprang  through  the  green  hill  shrub,  starting  the  yellow 
white-eyes  and  quick  wrens  from  their  low  shade. 

The  children,  black  motes  on  the  white  cumulus,  strayed 
on  the  afternoon's  high  horizon,  sad  to  descend  out  of  the 
sky.  From  where  they  stood  their  whole  world  and  their 
whole  life  lay  before  them,  all  the  northeast  corner  of  the 
valley.  The  Elokera  slid  away  beneath  their  feet,  forsaking 
the  mountain  near  the  village  of  Takulovok,  which  lay  in- 
visible under  the  crest.  The  river  entered  a  woodland  of 
albizzia  and  emerged  a  slow  brown  grassland  stream,  un- 
winding along  the  mountain  wall.  Then  it  curled  off  west- 
ward, through  the  Kosi-Alua  and  the  Wittaia,  to  come  to  an 
end  in  the  smoke-misted  distance,  the  Baliem. 

The  Baliem  lay  in  the  countries  of  the  enemy,  and 
though  it  was  less  than  four  miles  distant,  at  the  far  end  of 
the  Siobara,  the  children  would  never  know  more  of  it  than 
the  fringe  of  casuarina  which  hid  its  waters  from  their  sight. 

Above  the  children's  heads  three  brown  hawks  circled, 
shrieking  in  tight,  ratchety  vexation  in  the  high  blue  day. 
Other  birds  came  rarely  to  the  crest,  which  was  no  more  than 
a  jagged  outcropping  of  limestone  karst,  heaved  up  out  of 
the  sea  in  other  ages.  Lichen  and  bracken  ferns  clung  to 
sparse  soil,  with  dwarf  shrubbery  in  the  niches,  but  song- 
birds rarely  paused  there;  the  insects  were  scarce,  and  the 
dry  lizards  stayed  away.  Only  the  hawks  came,  riding  the 
updrafts  from  the  valley  warmth,  and  the  fierce  blue-gray 

•     33 


hunter  of  all  continents,  the  peregrine:  the  falcon  dove  down 
the  steep  hill  like  a  shard  of  falling  sky,  its  passage  booming 
a  half-mile  away. 

Below  the  hill,  on  the  south  side,  was  their  own  village 
of  Wuperainma:  Uwar  is  the  son  of  Loliluk  and  Aku  the 
daughter  of  U-mue.  The  children  could  spy  down  on  the  silis 
and  watch  Aku's  grandmother,  Aneake,  pick  her  way  along 
the  cooking  shed.  This  was  the  still  time  of  the  afternoon, 
when  all  the  people  were  in  the  fields;  Aneake  was  too  old 
to  work  steadily  in  the  fields  and  rarely  left  the  village  now 
except  to  hunch  in  the  near  weeds  or  gather  twigs. 

They  came  down  slowly,  caught  in  the  grave  immobility 
of  time,  the  sun  and  grass;  the  crests  of  the  araucarias  which 
shaded  the  spring  of  Homuak  were  still  far  beneath  their 
feet.  Now  they  could  see  Abulopak,  the  bare  yards  gleam- 
ing through  the  pale  green  of  banana  trees,  backed  up 
against  the  hill's  northwestern  flank.  Between  the  children 
and  the  villages,  the  slope  was  broken  by  round  limestone 
sinkholes,  and  in  one  of  the  holes  the  wall  sheltered  a  grotto; 
there  was  a  fireplace,  and  long  ago,  before  the  children  had 
first  gone  there,  akuni  had  drawn  pictures  on  the  wall.  Al- 
most everywhere  that  people  had  sheltered  beneath  a  rock 
and  built  a  fire,  such  drawings  had  been  made.  They  were 


34   m 


made  still,  with  charcoal  sticks,  for  no  other  purpose  than 
the  amusement  of  the  artist,  for  there  was  no  language  of 
symbol.  There  were  men  and  women  on  the  soft,  pale  stone, 
and  a  large  crayfish,  and  some  lizards. 

The  children  sprang  down  the  grassy  hillside,  quick  as 
black  dancers.  Their  voices  called  out  to  the  people  passing 
on  the  trails  below,  but  the  voices  came  from  another  world 
and  went  unanswered.  Uwar  sang  vaguely,  sadly,  without 
sadness,  and  the  song  wandered  on  the  airs  of  afternoon. 


•  Early  in  the  morning,  when  the  pigs  of  U-mue's 
sili  are  herded  out  into  the  fields,  they  are  apt  to  consort 
briefly  with  a  herd  from  the  sili  adjoining.  The  animals  of 
U-mue's  sili  are  tended  in  rotation  by  the  numerous  children, 
while  those  of  the  sili  of  Asok-meke  are  tended  invariably 
by  Asok-meke's  stepson,  Tukum. 

Like  all  the  swineherds  in  the  Kurelu,  Tukum  conducts 
his  pigs  each  morning  to  a  predetermined  pasture,  usually  a 
sweet-potato  field  gone  fallow.  Here  the  pigs  eat  greens  and 
the  stray  vegetables  which  have  escaped  the  harvest,  and 
root  for  grubs  and  mice  and  frogs  and  the  small  skinks  along 
old  ditches.  In  the  afternoon  he  escorts  them  back  to  village 
pens,  where  they  are  fed  hiperi  skins  and  other  offal  from 
the  fires.  Each  pig  is  marked  almost  from  birth  for  a 
certain  fate — a  ceremony,  a  marriage  gift,  the  payment  of  a 
debt — but  until  the  day  of  its  demise  it  leads  an  orderly  and 
pleasant  life,  prized  and  honored  on  all  sides. 

Despite  the  great  worth  of  the  pigs  and  the  prestige 
they  bear,  little  husbandry  is  practiced,  though  piglets,  very 

•    35 


small  or  ailing,  are  usually  carried  in  the  women's  nets  and 
receive  special  attention.  Should  a  sow  reach  breeding  age, 
she  may  be  escorted  to  a  noted  boar,  lest  one  of  her  own 
scraggy  kin  should  work  his  way  with  her.  The  daytime 
haunts  of  these  illustrious  boars,  like  the  haunts  of  every  ani- 
mal in  the  villages,  are  common  knowledge,  and,  while  per- 
mission may  sometimes  be  asked  of  the  boar's  owner,  the 
decision  is  more  often  left  to  the  stern  animal  itself. 

As  Tukum  is  thought  of  as  incompetent,  even  for  a  child 
of  seven,  such  a  delicate  matter  as  sow-breeding  would 
probably  be  left  to  his  mother.  Tukum's  mother  is  a  shrill, 
cheerful  woman,  the  gat-toothed  bane  of  her  young  son's 
existence,  who,  with  her  infernal  pigs  and  her  incessant 
shouting,  reduces  Tukum  almost  daily  to  bitter  tears.  Not 
only  is  Tukum  smaller  than  the  children  of  U-mue's  sili  but 
his  pigs  are  larger.  The  pigs  take  advantage  of  Tukum's  for- 
getful nature  by  losing  themselves  in  the  low  wood  or  barg- 
ing into  gardens  where  they  do  not  belong,  and  as  they  are  far 
stronger,  better  coordinated,  more  numerous,  and  more  in- 
tent than  he,  they  make  of  his  days  a  series  of  small  emer- 
gencies. His  only  weapon  is  an  extraordinary  voice,  both 
loud  and  gruff,  and  hoarse  with  use,  which  signals  the  pres- 
ence of  Tukum  and  his  charges  from  great  distances  away. 


•  Ekapuwe  lives  presently  in  the  hill  village  of 
Lokoparek  because  she  cannot  abide  Hugunaro.  According 
to  Ekapuwe,  her  rivalry  with  and  dislike  for  Hugunaro  was 
bom  of  U-mue's  insane  love  for  Ekapuwe,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  Hugunaro's  disgusting  jealousy  on  the  other. 
36  m 


Ekapuwe  is  a  Wittaia  woman,  married  formerly  to  a 
Wittaia.  In  those  days,  perhaps  seven  years  ago,  the  Kurelu 
were  at  war  not  only  with  the  Wittaia  but  with  those  Siep- 
Kosi  who  are  their  neighbors  to  the  southeast;  the  region  of 
the  upper  slopes  where  Lokoparek  now  lies  was  then  wild 
forest,  a  part  of  the  frontier  no  man's  land. 

One  day  Ekapuwe  and  her  husband  came  to  the  forest 
to  gather  fiber,  and  there  the  beautiful  Ekapuwe  was  spied 
by  U-mue.  It  came  to  U-mue  on  that  instant  that  he  must 
have  this  woman  above  all  things  in  life;  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  not  prepared  to  attack  her  husband  single-handed. 
The  love-stricken  man  ran  down  the  mountain  to  summon 
reinforcements,  and  returned  not  long  thereafter  with  a  well- 
armed  band.  Ekapuwe's  husband  was  driven  off,  and  Eka- 
puwe herself  became  the  prize  of  U-mue. 

The  romantic  tale  of  Ekapuwe  and  U-mue  is  anathema 
to  Hugunaro.  Her  terrible  jealousy,  in  Ekapuwe's  opinion, 
makes  the  idea  that  U-mue  should  sleep  with  other  women 
unbearable  to  Hugunaro,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  she 
resorts  to  an  abortionist,  for  otherwise  U-mue  might  neglect 
her  in  time  of  pregnancy.  Hugunaro  has  made  a  habit  of 
having  herself  aborted,  four  or  five  times,  it  is  said.  The 
abortion  is  effected  by  certain  skillful  women  using  tech- 
niques of  pummeling  and  massage;  the  fetus  is  dropped  in  a 
special  pool  in  the  small  stream  called  Tabara.  Among  noted 
abortionists  is  Asok-meke's  wife,  mother  of  Tukum  the 
swineherd.  While  abortion  is  more  or  less  accepted  among 
unmarried  girls — as  most  girls  are  wed  within  a  year  or  so 
of  puberty,  the  event  is  rare — it  is  frowned  upon  when  prac- 
ticed by  married  women,  and  the  likelihood  is  that  U-mue 
and  Hugunaro  have  quarreled  on  this  account.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  husbands  are  rather  ignorant  about  abortions; 
there  is  a  song  of  the  akuni  in  which  the  women  gloat  over 
their  husbands*  innocence, — but  we,  the  women,  know  the 

•     37 


truth!  Many  women  dislike  having  children,  and  abortion  is 
quite  common. 

It  was  the  passionate  Hugunaro  who  gave  her  husband 
the  mildly  derisive  name  that  he  now  bears — the  name 
U-mue  means  "the  Anxious  One."  With  his  intrigues  and 
maneuverings,  U-mue  has  every  reason  to  be  anxious,  and  a 
group  of  wives  which  includes,  besides  the  rivals,  a  big, 
sleepy  girl  like  Yuli  cannot  add  very  much  to  the  Anxious 
One's  peace  of  mind. 


•  When  a  man  enters  a  sili  which  is  not  his  own,  his 
spear  is  left  against  a  tree  outside;  otherwise,  he  rarely  goes 
without  it.  The  cheerfulness,  even  gaiety,  of  the  people  is 
the  more  remarkable  for  the  fact  that  never  in  the  whole 
course  of  their  lives  can  they  be  certain  that  death  does  not 
await  them  down  the  path;  after  each  peril,  like  the  small 
mice  which  dart  or  flatten  in  the  grass  at  a  hawFs  passage, 
they  continue  as  though  nothing  had  occurred.  Nevertheless, 
a  man  travels  armed,  not  only  in  the  vicinity  of  the  frontiers 
but  on  his  home  trails;  quite  apart  from  the  enemy,  he  may 
need  his  spear  in  the  disputes  which  occur  constantly  within 
the  tribe  itself. 

One  fine  day,  down  by  the  river,  a  man  of  the  Kosi-Alua 
was  badly  injured,  in  part  because  he  had  left  his  spear  at 
home.  The  wife  of  this  man  had  left  him  for  a  man  of  the 
Siep-Kosi,  and  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  her  flight  had 
been  assisted  by  Tegearek  of  Wuperainma.  He  came  to  ques- 
tion Tegearek,  who  denied  all  part  in  it,  and  when  he  came 
several  times  again,  suggesting  by  his  insistence  that  Te- 


gearek  had  not  told  him  the  truth,  the  latter  became  woe- 
fully annoyed:  whether  or  not  the  man's  suspicion  was  well 
founded,  Tegearek  felt  himself  insulted. 

One  morning  the  man  came  to  the  Aike,  accompanied 
by  several  tribesmen;  they  were  bound  not  for  Wuperainma 
but  for  the  lands  of  the  Siep-Kosi,  to  inquire  after  the  missing 
wife.  The  husband,  foolishly  unarmed,  had  wandered  from 
his  friends,  and  near  the  river  he  encountered  Tegearek. 

Tegearek  is  the  young  war  kain  of  the  Wilil,  an  innocent 
man  of  violence:  his  name  derives  from  tege  warek,  or 
"Spear  Death/'  He  is  strong  and  stocky,  with  two  black  front 
teeth  and  the  wistful  expression  of  a  man  easily  confused. 
He  is  hot-tempered  in  the  way  confused  people  often  are, 
and  he  had  with  him  Yeke  Asuk,  whose  hot  temper  is  more 
complex.  These  factors,  in  combination  with  the  fact  that 
his  tormentor  was  alone  and  unarmed,  persuaded  Tegearek 
that  an  attack  was  timely  and,  after  a  brief  and  violent  ex- 
change, he  launched  it.  No  cowardice  on  Tegearek's  part 
was  involved  in  this,  for  according  to  Dani  codes  a  man  who 
so  forgets  himself  as  to  run  afoul  of  an  antagonist  while  un- 
armed and  alone  deserves  no  mercy  and  receives  none. 

Tegearek  did  not  intend  to  kill  the  man  but  simply  to 
punish  him  a  little.  To  this  end  he  jabbed  him  twice,  once 
in  the  thigh  and  a  second  time  in  the  head.  His  victim  seized 
hold  of  the  spear  and  tried  to  wrest  it  from  Tegearek;  when 
he  managed  to  turn  it  in  TegeareFs  direction,  he  was 
speared  in  the  stomach  by  Yeke  Asuk.  Yeke  Asuk  did  not 
wish  to  kill  him  either,  and  the  spear  was  withdrawn  after 
having  penetrated  two  or  three  inches.  The  two  friends  left 
the  man  where  he  lay,  not  knowing  how  many  Kosi-Alua 
might  be  along,  or  when  they  might  appear. 

The  group  of  Kosi-Alua  appeared  soon  after.  They  car- 
ried their  friend  home  across  the  open  fields,  avoiding  the 
brushy  trails  under  the  mountain.  The  wounded  man  sat 

•    39 


astride  the  shoulders  of  each  friend  in  turn,  supported  by 
two  others  at  the  arms.  He  was  slumped,  head  hanging,  and 
his  head  had  been  bandaged  in  vegetable  leaves;  in  the  sun, 
his  back  glistened  with  heavy  sweat.  The  women  straight- 
ened, watching  in  silence  as  the  group  made  its  way  across 
the  fields;  it  entered  the  brushland  west  of  the  dancing-field 
called  Liberek  and  disappeared. 

Since  this  episode  Tegearek  and  Yeke  Asuk  have  moved 
with  caution,  for  they  expect  reprisal. 


•  One  morning  on  the  way  to  his  kaio,  Weaklekek, 
the  great  warrior  of  the  clan  Alua,  startled  a  large  bird  from 
the  base  of  a  rhododendron.  The  bird  flew  to  the  low  limb  of 
a  chestnut  tree  overlooking  the  lower  Tabara.  Weaklekek 
took  a  hunting  arrow  from  the  bundle  he  carried  with  him 
and  laid  the  rest  in  the  grass;  he  ran  silently  down  a  slope  on 
the  far  side  of  the  tree,  beyond  the  bird,  and  crept  up  on  it 
through  the  bushes.  The  bird  sat  uneasily  on  the  limb,  a  soft, 
rufous  brown  bird  with  a  very  long,  wide  tail.  It  was  a  moun- 
tain pigeon,  the  call  of  which,  hoo~oik,  hoo-oik,  hollow  and 
mournful,  is  imitated  by  the  warriors  in  time  of  war.  Weak- 
lekek crept  up  too  close,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  waste  his 
arrow.  The  bird  flew  as  he  raised  his  bow,  and  the  arrow 
skittered  across  the  empty  branch. 

A  man  s  voice  called  to  him,  We-AK-le-kek,  a-oo. 

Weaklekek  went  on  down  toward  the  Aike,  stepping 
over  a  tribe  of  biting  ants  which,  oblivious  of  his  feet, 
dragged  a  dazed  grasshopper  across  his  path  and  into  the 

40    • 


grass  jungle.  He  was  the  first  man  at  the  kaio.  Other  men, 
bearing  their  spears,  arrived  in  a  few  minutes,  and  Weak- 
lekek  left  his  kaio  and  went  down  into  the  gardens.  His  wife 
Lakaloklek  and  their  daughter  Eken  were  breaking  up  stale 
earth,  turning  and  splitting  the  old  lumps  with  hiperi  spears. 
Weaklekek  had  the  men's  digging  stick,  and  he  set  rapidly 
to  work,  panting  rhythmically  and  hoarsely  from  the  start. 
Behind  him  the  girl,  whose  name  means  "Seed"  or  "Flower/' 
burned  the  dried  weeds,  and  a  light  air  out  of  the  east  car- 
ried the  smoke  toward  Weaklekek  and  shrouded  him.  With 
Lakaloklek,  he  surged  and  vanished  in  the  fumes.  Feet 
planted  in  the  black-brown  earth,  the  man  and  woman  were 
the  exact  color  of  the  soil,  as  if  they  had  sprung  out  of  the 
smoke  and  earth,  like  trolls.  Weaklekek's  great  strength  and 
energy  were  of  the  earth,  infusing  him,  as  if  one  day  he  might 
leap  free  and  climb  the  sky. 

Except  when  in  the  act  of  love,  in  wayside  grass  or  the 
night  darkness  of  an  ebeai,  a  man  and  wife  are  entirely  un- 
demonstrative; this  is  prudishness,  not  lack  of  warmth. 
Weaklekek  and  Lakaloklek  are  no  exception.  Nevertheless, 
and  despite  the  fact  that  Weaklekek  has  other  wives,  he  is 
plainly  closest  to  Lakaloklek.  Lakaloklek  herself,  a  slim, 
spirited  woman  with  a  pretty,  elfin  face,  took  upon  herself 
the  disapproval  of  the  community  by  rushing  to  Weaklekek 
immediately  after  the  death  of  her  first  husband:  her  name 
means  "She  Who  Would  Not  Wait."  More  than  any  other 
man  and  wife  in  the  southern  Kurelu,  they  seem  a  pair. 
There  is  an  air  of  strong  communion  when  they  are  together, 
of  wild  and  unarticulated  tenderness. 

Weaklekek  worked  relentlessly,  his  dark  body  gleaming 
in  the  pall.  The  dirt  flew,  tumbling  in  clods.  From  one  clod 
wriggled  a  bronze  ground  lizard;  it  writhed  down  to  the 
water  of  the  ditch. 

Weaklekek  cried  gleefully  at  the  sight  of  it,  for  the  fact 

•    41 


of  it  Some  water  spiders  flew  before  the  falling  clods,  and 
he  called  out  softly,  Pilili,  pilili—Be  quick,  be  quick.  Behind 
him,  Lakaloklek  laughed,  as  affectionately  as  wives  of  the 
akuni  ever  laugh,  but  she  did  not  cease  working.  She  turned 
the  earth  slowly  and  steadily,  bent  over  her  stick,  breasts 
swaying. 

When  Weaklekek  first  came  to  live  in  the  southern 
Kurelu,  he  was  called  simply  We-AK,  which  means  "the 
Bad  One/'  He  brought  this  name  with  him  from  the  north- 
ern countries,  where  he  had  had  a  wife.  One  day,  not  long 
before  he  came  to  Hornaklep,  this  wife  told  him  that  she 
had  been  raped  by  men  of  a  near  village,  and  Weaklekek 
went  immediately  to  confront  them.  The  men  were  absent, 
and  Weaklekek,  as  was  his  right,  seized  a  number  of  their 
pigs  and  took  them  back  to  his  own  sili. 

The  next  day  his  wife  confessed  to  him  that  she  had 
not  been  raped  at  all;  apparently  she  had  lied  to  him  in  the 
simple  hope  of  making  trouble.  Weaklekek  has  a  dark  tem- 
per, and  he  became  enraged.  Nevertheless,  he  retired  into 
his  pilai,  attempting  to  control  himself.  Some  hours  later  he 
emerged  and,  finding  his  wife  before  him  in  the  yard,  struck 
her  a  terrible  blow  along  the  jaw.  She  dropped  senseless  to 
the  ground,  and  before  the  next  morning  she  was  dead. 

Weaklekek  was  grief-stricken,  for  he  had  loved  this 
wife;  certainly  he  had  not  meant  to  kill  her.  He  could  not 
forgive  himself  for  what  he  had  done,  and  meanwhile  his 
own  life  was  in  danger.  Custom  demanded  that  she  be  cre- 
mated, but  her  kinsmen  were  infuriated  by  her  death  and 
swore  that  they  would  kill  Weaklekek;  he  could  scarcely  in- 
vite them  to  the  funeral.  Furthermore,  he  had  no  support 
from  his  own  people,  who  were  shocked  by  his  act  and 
would  not  go  near  him;  they  referred  to  him  from  that  time 
forward  as  the  Bad  One. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Weaklekek  that  he  made  no  at- 


42    m 


tempt  to  excuse  himself,  to  mollify  the  akuni  by  inviting 
them  to  feed  upon  his  pigs.  On  the  morning  following  the 
death,  when  the  funeral  would  ordinarily  have  occurred, 
Weaklekek  went  out  into  his  yard.  In  a  passion  of  grief  and 
anger  and  remorse,  he  tore  down  the  fences  of  his  sili.  All 
alone  he  hurled  the  laths  together  in  a  mighty  pyre,  and  all 
alone  he  carried  forward  the  body  of  his  wife  and  laid  it  on 
the  flames. 

When  this  stark  funeral  was  finished,  Weaklekek  left 
his  village  and  walked  off  to  the  southward.  There  was  no 
life  left  for  him  where  he  had  lived,  and  he  knew  that  sooner 
or  later  the  kinsmen  of  his  wife  would  try  to  kill  him.  He 
went  to  the  village  of  Homaklep,  on  the  far  southern  fron- 
tier, bringing  with  him  a  heavy  heart  and  a  bad  name. 
Homaklep  lay  in  the  shadow  of  the  enemy,  and  its  people 
were  glad  to  have  a  man  such  as  Weaklekek,  even  though  he 
was  an  outcast. 

Not  long  thereafter  his  wife's  kinsmen  ambushed  Weak- 
lekek along  a  trail.  He  killed  one  of  her  brothers  with  an  ar- 
row, fighting  furiously — so  furiously  that  the  attack  was 
never  again  repeated — but  in  doing  so  he  worsened  his  own 
reputation.  Nevertheless,  in  his  new  village  he  worked  hard, 
earning  respect,  and  became  one  of  the  great  warriors  of  the 
region.  Over  the  years,  the  name  We-ak  was  lengthened  to 
Weaklekek,  to  wipe  away  the  sense  of  it,  though  the  killing 
of  his  wife  and  her  brother  have  maintained  his  reputation 
for  violence. 

The  akuni  still  fear  Weaklekek  on  those  rare  occasions 
when  he  loses  his  temper,  and  Weaklekek  himself,  despite 
his  generosity  and  kindness,  gives  frequent  sign  that  he  is  a 
burdened  man.  Always  solitary,  he  retreats  at  times  into  a 
somber  silence,  as  if  in  dread  of  his  own  strength.  His  broad 
back  to  the  world,  he  hunches  over  a  long  shell  belt,  weav- 
ing, weaving. 

m    43 


•  Not  long  ago  both  wives  of  a  man  named  Werene 
were  raped  in  the  fields  by  men  of  the  Kosi-Alua.  Werene 
stole  two  of  their  pigs,  the  normal  compensation,  and  gave 
them  to  Weaklekek  for  safe  keeping.  But  the  Kosi  men  did 
not  recognize  his  right,  having  small  respect  for  Werene. 
They  came  to  Homaklep  and,  failing  to  find  the  two  animals 
in  question,  made  off  with  Werene's  entire  herd. 

A  man  suffers  offenses  according  to  his  inability  to  de- 
fend himself,  and  Werene  suffered  both  of  the  most  common 
ones,  which  are  pig-theft  and  wife-rape.  In  principle  the 
offender  is  paid  back  in  kind.  Should  he  be  found  out — and 
as  these  acts  are  usually  an  expression  of  power,  he  is  almost 
invariably  found  out— and  should  he  accept  the  theft  of  his 
own  pigs  or  the  rape  of  his  own  wife,  the  matter  is  then 
closed.  But  more  often  the  victim  of  the  offense  is  chosen  in 
advance  for  qualities  of  cowardice  or  impotence  and  suffers 
his  injury  to  go  unpunished. 

The  great  kains,  though  wealthy  in  both  pigs  and 
women,  are  not  often  sinned  against,  for  it  is  one  of  their 
prerogatives  to  kill  a  man,  or  his  subordinates  or  children, 
when  he  has  done  them  harm;  indeed,  the  demonstrated 
willingness,  and  even  eagerness,  to  take  life  is  an  important 
asset  in  establishing  a  great  kainship  in  the  first  place.  But 
a  man  who  is  totally  kepu  soon  loses  to  stronger  men  any 
pigs  he  may  have  acquired,  and  his  wives,  when  not  raped, 
are  taken  outright.  This  is  the  law,  and,  should  he  resist  it, 
he  may  die  or  be  cast  out 

Werene's  main  asset  was  his  friendship  with  Weaklekek, 
who  is  kain  of  Werene's  village.  Weaklekek  is  a  loyal  and 
generous  man,  and  he  heeded  Werene's  request  that  he  in- 

44    • 


tercede.  It  was  arranged  that  the  two  original  pigs  be  re- 
turned  to  their  first  owners,  whereupon  the  pigs  of  Werene 
would  be  returned  to  him.  This  much  was  accomplished, 
but  Werene,  in  the  end,  had  two  raped  wives  without  a 
compensating  increase  in  the  number  of  his  pigs,  while 
Weaklekek  was  much  resented  by  the  Kosi-Alua. 


H  One  night  in  late  April  the  young  warrior  Ekita- 
malek  of  the  Kosi-Alua  died  of  a  wound  from  a  Wittaia  ar- 
row; this  wound  had  been  suffered  in  the  recent  war  on  the 
Tokolik.  Eldtamalek  had  not  been  a  very  good  warrior, 
spending  most  of  his  time  in  the  second  line,  and  he  had 
been  in  the  second  line  when  the  arrow  struck  him.  The  ar- 
row entered  his  breast  on  the  left  side,  and  the  shaft  broke 
off.  The  old  men  could  not  locate  the  tip  and  assumed  that 
only  a  small  piece  was  still  inside,  and  within  a  few  days 
Ekitamalek  was  walking  around  in  the  village  of  Kibitsilimo, 
where  his  father,  Yoroick,  lived.  He  did  not  feel  well  enough 
to  work,  but  he  was  not  in  pain.  One  morning  two  weeks 
later  he  felt  strange.  He  went  to  his  mother's  ebeai,  com- 
plaining of  his  wound,  and  was  helped  into  the  sleeping  quar- 
ters in  the  loft.  He  started  to  cry,  and  the  men  came  to  see 
him.  Within  three  hours  he  was  dead. 

The  village  of  Kibitsilimo  lies  southwest  of  Homuak, 
across  a  savanna  of  abandoned  fields  and  weedy  ditches.  On 
the  morning  after  the  death  the  women  on  their  way  to 
mourn  Ekitamalek  stopped  on  the  banks  of  a  stream  just 
south  of  Kibitsilimo  and  daubed  their  faces  and  bodies  with 
ocher  clay.  In  single  file  they  then  resumed  their  way,  yel- 

•     45 


low  and  leprous,  bent  beneath  brown  nets  of  hiperi.  From 
the  river  the  moaning  in  the  village  could  be  heard,  rising 
and  falling  like  a  dull  wind. 

Near  the  outer  fences  of  the  village  the  women  paused 
in  silence  while  a  group  of  men  passed  ahead  of  them.  The 
women's  faces  were  set  and  cold,  and  in  the  yellow  clay  they 
looked  possessed.  When  the  men  had  gone  they  moved  on- 
ward again,  into  a  little  grove  on  the  south  side  of  the  vil- 
lage. Arriving,  they  climbed  slowly,  one  by  one,  through  the 
narrow  entrance  stile.  Seated  facing  them,  on  a  high  chair 
in  the  hot  sun,  was  Ekitamalek. 

The  sili  is  a  large  one,  laid  out  in  an  L,  with  the  entrance 
at  the  top  of  the  letter:  the  chair  stood  in  the  long  part  of 
the  L,  not  quite  at  the  angle,  looking  toward  the  mountains. 
On  the  right  hand  of  the  women  entering  stood  a  long 
cooking  shed,  and  by  its  wall  the  women  laid  their  nets  and 
offerings  of  sweet  potato.  Then  they  went  forward  to  sink 
among  the  massed  brown  female  backs  hunched  on  the  earth 
before  the  chair. 

The  women  rocked  and  groaned,  hands  to  their  faces  or 
forearms  across  their  brows;  some  scrambled  awkwardly  to 
touch  the  dead  man's  feet  and  rub  his  legs.  Two  women 
stood  before  the  chair  with  leafy  branches,  brushing  the 
black  flies  from  the  dead  man's  face  and  wounds.  All  the 
women  cried,  and  at  the  same  time  they  moaned  in  rhythmic 
response  to  the  litany  of  the  dead  man's  father,  who  stood 
behind  the  chair.  Yoroick's  voice  quavered  with  grief  as  he 
called  out  his  elegy  of  his  son,  in  phrases. 

The  only  woman  behind  the  chair  was  the  dead  man's 
mother.  She  clung  to  the  chair  post,  hands  clasped  around 
its  top,  and  sometimes  she  sank  down  at  its  foot,  boneless 
with  grief. 

A  pathway  was  kept  clear  among  the  ranks  of  women, 
and  the  incoming  men  passed  through  in  single  file.  Kains 

46     B 


from  the  nearer  villages  had  brought  pigs;  those  from  farther 
off  had  with  them  ornamented  belts  of  cowries.  The  animals 
were  not  brought  in,  but  were  left  in  the  pig  stalls  of  ad- 
joining silis;  the  cowrie  belts  were  taken  into  the  men's  pilai, 
which  occupied  the  corner  of  the  L,  beyond  the  chair. 

The  visitors  were  important  warriors  and  men  of  prop- 
erty; the  few  young  men  were  relatives,  or  of  the  sili  None 
of  the  men  had  brought  their  spears  or  bows,  and  none  wore 
ornaments;  they  were  dressed  as  simply  as  the  dead  man 
himself.  Because  of  an  old  quarrel,  neither  Werene  nor 
Hanumoak,  younger  brothers  of  Yoroick  and  uncles  of  the 
dead  boy,  had  felt  welcome.  Among  the  kains  were  Nilik  of 
the  Walilo,  Polik  of  the  Halluk,  and  U-mue  of  the  WiliL 
Weaklekek  was  also  there,  but  he  was  received  coldly  by 
the  Kosi-AIua,  owing  to  his  intercession  on  behalf  of  Werene, 
and  left  the  village  before  the  funeral  had  begun. 

The  men  paused  a  few  minutes  before  the  body,  stand- 
ing in  the  pathway  among  the  women:  they  joined  in  the 
lament,  rubbing  their  right  thighs  with  their  right  hands  and 
wiping  their  eyes  with  their  left.  They  sniffed  and  grunted 
dutifully,  and  most,  after  a  few  minutes,  were  able  to  sum- 
mon tears:  the  tears  flowed  down  their  faces  and  mixed  with 
long  strings  of  untended  effluvia  from  the  nostrils.  Eghl 
Egh!  Eg/i/  Egh!  After  a  time  this  was  given  up,  and  the  men 
moved  to  a  second  position,  behind  the  chair.  There  they 
stood  quietly,  under  the  harsh  gaze  of  the  female  body.  Most 
bent  their  heads,  an  appropriate  expression  on  the  face,  and 
one  or  both  arms  folded  behind  the  back.  The  hand  behind 
Polik's  back  held  the  tight  brown  roll  of  his  tobacco.  Then 
they  retreated  from  the  vicinity  of  the  chair,  to  join  the 
other  men  seated  on  leaves  and  ferns  in  the  yard  before  the 
pilai. 

The  newcomers  passed  among  the  rest,  taking  and 
squeezing  each  hand  in  turn,  with  quiet  greetings — Narak- 

m  47 


a-la-ok  .  .  .  Narak  .  .  .  Ny-ke.  Narak-a-la-ok,  the  basic 
form,  means  "I  eat  your  feces,"  but  it  is  said  in  vainglory 
rather  than  deference,  as  if  the  speaker,  in  accomplishing 
such  an  act,  could  only  be  quite  a  fellow. 

Close  friends  and  relatives  embraced  without  kissing, 
patting  each  other  on  the  back  and  murmuring,  Wah,  wah, 
wah,  wah,  wah,  in  a  kind  of  rapid  panting.  The  old  men, 
who  are  treated  generally  with  great  affection,  are  embraced 
more  often  than  other  people  and  at  greater  length.  The 
greetings  done,  the  men  sat  and  talked  and  smoked,  joking 
quietly  and  answering  casually  the  cries  of  Yoroick. 

Yoroick  is  very  tall,  and  he  had  a  small  amount  of  yel- 
low clay  stuck  on  his  shoulders.  Hands  folded  across  his 
lower  stomach,  he  recounted  imaginary  deeds  of  the  mute 
presence  in  the  chair  in  front  of  him,  in  short  ascending 
phrases:  the  response  of  the  women  began  on  the  high  note 
and  descended  softly,  like  a  sigh. 

The  warriors  went  to  the  Tokolik 

Ai-i-e-eo 
And  moved  slowly  past  the  ponds. 

Ai-i-e-eo 
He,  all  alone,  went  forward. 

Ai-i-e-eo 
Now  he  is  gone 

E-eo 

Our  child  is  dead 
And  this  is  very  sad. 
Our  land  can  be  here  no  more 
We  will  go  far  away. 

Shall  we  go  northward,  to  the  spring  of  Elesi? 
Or  south  into  the  Southern  Valley? 
Shall  we  go  to  the  peoples  in  the  west, 
Or  shall  we  start  a  new  life,  far  away? 

From  behind,  the  chair  looked  ponderous  and  out  of 

48    • 


place.  The  chair  had  been  built  especially  for  the  funeral 
and  while  it  stood  was  the  only  piece  of  furniture  in  the 
village.  Straight-backed  as  a  throne,  its  seat  high  off  the 
ground,  it  was  a  makeshift  of  split  laths  and  saplings  lashed 
together  with  lianas.  The  back  and  seat  were  lined  with 
fronds,  and  Ekitamalek's  body  sat  in  a  semi-fetal  posture, 
legs  folded  over  a  lath  secured  across  the  front  of  the  rough 
chair  arms  beneath  the  knees;  his  knees  were  at  the  level  of 
his  chin.  His  lower  legs  were  bound  together  with  strips  of 
fiber,  and  his  head  was  secured  to  the  back  of  the  chair  by 
another  strip  passed  under  the  jaw.  His  hands  rested  palms 
downward  on  the  chair  seat. 

In  a  humid  heat  the  dead  man  sat,  attended  by  the  flies 
and  sun.  There  grew  from  him,  as  the  day  passed,  that  in- 
finite silence  which,  despite  its  mourners,  surrounds  a  dead 
body  like  a  great  drop  of  dew.  Strands  of  his  wild  crest  of 
curly  hair  caught  glints  of  morning  light,  outlining  the  head 
against  the  pale  straw  thatching  of  the  huts.  His  body  was 
naked  save  for  its  horim,  still  tied  erect,  and  the  black  fibers 
at  the  throat,  worn  by  all  warriors  for  good  luck  in  war.  His 
head  was  inclined  softly  to  the  right  and,  as  the  day  went 
on,  appeared  to  sink  gradually  toward  his  breast.  His  face 
looked  less  martyred  than  pensive  and  sad;  his  mouth,  hung 
slightly  open,  was  still  firm  and  strong.  He  looked  mortally 
tired,  and  at  the  same  time  relieved  that  he  had  sunk  into 
sleep  at  last.  Like  most  of  the  men  of  the  Kurelu,  he  had 
been  given  a  second  name  when  his  life  was  well  started,  in 
recognition  of  a  characteristic  quality  or  act  or  manner.  The 
name  Ekitamalek  meant  "Empty  Fist." 

The  war  kain  Husuk,  who  is  the  owner  of  the  sili,  moved 
quietly  among  the  mourners.  Black-skinned  and  straight- 
backed,  with  a  small  step  almost  delicate  and  a  gently  sar- 
donic smile,  Husuk  attended  quietly  to  the  progress  of  the 
ritual.  Like  most  akuni  men,  he  wears  a  short  neat  beard  the 

•     49 


whole  length  of  his  jaw.  In  the  middle  of  the  day  he  brought 
from  the  pilai  the  long  shell  belts:  these  are  woven  belts, 
five  or  six  feet  in  length,  to  which  are  sewn  large  cowries. 
The  shells  are  spaced  an  inch  or  so  apart,  and  between  each 
pair  is  a  cross  band  of  bright  red  or  yellow  fiber;  sometimes 
the  belt  is  edged  with  tiny  snails  or  tufts  of  fur.  The  cowrie 
belts  are  a  form  of  currency;  as  ornament,  they  are  worn 
only  at  birth,  at  the  time  of  initiation,  and  in  death. 

The  kains  came  forward  and  draped  the  belts  around 
the  forehead  and  down  across  the  shoulders  of  Ekitamalek. 
A  fine  fur  headpiece  of  tree  kangaroo  was  hung  on  the  chair 
post  above  one  shoulder,  and  a  mikak  shell  was  fastened  at 
his  throat.  On  the  arms  of  the  chair,  as  the  only  offering  they 
could  make,  the  women  draped  new  nets. 

Three  young  pigs  were  brought  into  the  sili.  Each  was 
hoisted  by  two  warriors,  one  holding  it  by  the  ears  and  the 
other  by  the  haunches.  The  pig  was  held  at  chest  height, 
and  Yoli,  village  kain  of  Hulibara  and  Yoroick's  kinsman, 
took  up  a  bow  and  arrow.  The  arrow's  tip  was  a  half -shaft 
of  sharp  bamboo,  sharpened  at  both  edges  to  the  tip;  this  is 
the  bleeding  arrow,  used  invariably  for  killing  pigs  and  as  an 
auxiliary  weapon  in  the  wars.  Arm  shaking,  Yoli  hauled  upon 
the  bowstring.  From  a  distance  of  a  few  inches,  he  drove 
the  arrow  into  the  pig's  lungs.  The  pig  writhed,  squealing, 
to  the  ground  and  trotted  around  the  sili,  pumping  blood. 
When  it  had  weakened,  it  was  caught  once  more,  and  a  man 
worked  the  blood  from  it  with  his  foot  as  it  gasped  upon  the 
ground.  This  process  was  repeated  twice. 

Banana  fronds  were  brought  and  stretched  on  the 
ground  before  the  pilai.  The  three  dead  pigs  were  laid  there 
on  their  bellies,  legs  extended  forward  and  back,  in  a  neat 
row.  Their  tails  and  ears  were  lopped,  to  be  put  aside  as 
ornaments  and  fetishes,  and  leaves  were  heaped  on  their 
hindquarters.  Other  men,  off  to  one  side,  were  digging  a 
so  * 


cooking  pit  with  the  long  digging  sticks.  The  pit,  when  fin- 
ished, was  three  feet  deep,  and  narrow  at  the  bottom,  an 
inverted  cone,  and  the  black  mud  of  its  sides  and  edges  was 
stamped  smooth. 

Husuk  appeared,  bearing  a  large  charred  log.  Another 
log  was  brought,  and  a  fire  built  between  diem.  The  pigs 
were  singed  upon  the  flames;  they  turned  a  blotchy  black 
and  white  as  the  mud  and  bristles  were  scraped  free.  They 
were  then  returned  to  the  banana  fronds,  the  seared  lips 
sucked  back  upon  their  teeth  in  a  taut  snarl.  The  bright 
leaves  of  a  blue-flowered  spiderwort  had  been  heaped  upon 
the  fronds,  and  eight  of  the  elder  men,  using  stone  adzes  and 
bamboo  knives,  dressed  out  the  pigs  and  cut  them  to  small 
sections, 

The  fire  was  enlarged.  A  man  with  a  heavy  ax, 
more  like  a  club,  from  which  the  stone  protruded  like  a  nose, 
split  long  laths;  the  laths  were  placed  across  the  two  original 
logs,  and  others  were  tiered  above  them.  Stones  were  piled 
into  the  fire,  and  damp  leaves  heaped  upon  the  flames  to 
hold  the  heat.  The  heavy  smoke  poured  out  across  the  sili, 
filming  the  crouched  bodies  of  the  women. 

All  morning  the  chanting  had  continued,  but  it  was  gen- 
tle now,  like  the  breathing  of  small  waves  on  a  quiet  shore: 
the  old  man's  scratchy  voice  was  the  water  sucking  back 
among  the  pebbles,  and  the  response  was  the  soft  falling 
forward  of  the  wave.  Tik,  tik,  tik,  tik,  tik,  tik — aie-ee-o-o. 
De-e-o.  The  dead  boy's  mother  still  clung  to  the  chair, 
draped  down  its  back  like  an  old  net,  as  if  her  wrists  had 
been  lashed  to  the  rude  post.  For  the  moment  she  was  quiet. 
The  sun  was  bright  and  the  air  windless;  the  southeast  trades 
have  not  yet  come,  and  in  this  season  the  corner  of  the  valley 
is  all  but  windless,  strangely  so,  except  just  before  a  rain. 
Dragonflies  and  small  gaunt  wasps  and  a  solitary  butterfly, 
coal  black  with  white  spots  on  its  wings,  hovered  at  the  sun- 

B     51 


sliined  mud  where  the  night's  rain  was  fading.  High  above, 
a  wind  of  the  upper  atmosphere  moved  clouds  out  of  the 
east,  and  dark  small  swiftlets  hurtled  down  the  sky.  Then  a 
vague  breeze  turned  the  air,  rattling  the  fronds  of  the  ba- 
nana trees  which  stood  in  ranks  around  the  village. 

A  line  of  men  came  across  the  fields,  framed  by  the  tat- 
tered fronds.  At  the  fences  of  the  sili  they  passed  to  the 
older  men  lashed  bundles  of  fresh  leaves  and  ferns,  which 
were  banked  into  the  cooking  pit.  The  hot  stones  were  car- 
ried from  the  fire,  one  by  one,  in  tongs  made  from  split 
staves,  as  hiperi  and  pig  meat  were  brought  forward.  Bound 
in  a  grass  cone  by  a  coil  of  rattan,  the  leaves  and  ferns  were 
piled  above  the  surface  of  the  ground.  Vegetables,  stones, 
and  ferns  were  placed  in  layers. 

Some  of  the  pig  meat  had  been  hung  on  a  crossbar  be- 
tween two  huts,  and  more  had  been  stored  in  the  pilai;  this 
part  of  the  sacramental  pig,  warn  wisa,  would  be  saved  for 
the  next  day.  The  rest  was  placed  in  the  cooking  pit  with 
the  vegetables.  A  small  smiling  girl  stood  near  the  women, 
looking  on.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  gleaming  strip  of  tripes, 
like  a  toy  necklace. 

The  great  war  kain  Wereklowe  came  to  the  funeral  late; 
he  stayed  out  of  sight  in  a  hut  near  the  entrance.  Kurelu 
himself  was  there  but  took  no  part  in  the  ceremony.  For  a 
while  he  remained  outside  the  fence  entirely,  looking  ob- 
scure and  humble  in  an  old  brown  head  net,  Later  he  en- 
tered, crossing  a  back  fence,  but  he  sat  quietly  with  some 
lesser  kains  around  the  comer  from  and  out  of  sight  of  the 
ominous  ranks  of  women.  Sometimes  the  women  much  re- 
sent the  men  who  call  for  war  and  have  been  known  to  rush 
upon  them  and  beat  them  severely  about  the  head  and 
shoulders. 

The  food  baked  slowly  in  the  rock  fire,  and  big  drops 
of  rain  feU  through  the  sunlight  Small  children,  bored, 

52    • 


rubbed  flies  from  the  damp  of  their  eyes  and  nostrils,  using 
fat  spread  fingers;  they  stood  framed  in  the  doorways  of 
the  huts,  and  when  they  cried  were  withdrawn  into  the 
shadows.  Through  big  chinks  in  the  back  walls  of  the  cook- 
ing shed  the  hiperi  fields  were  visible,  rolling  away  toward 
the  Baliem  River  and  the  valleys  which  climbed  beyond.  An 
old  man  tottered  about,  crying  out  empty  instructions 
in  a  thin,  long-range  voice;  he  was  gazed  at  briefly,  without 
rancor,  and  then  disregarded.  Other  old  men,  in  a  file  of 
eight,  appeared  belatedly  at  the  entrance.  They  came  to 
stand  among  the  women,  as  the  others  had,  and  paid  their 
respects  to  the  dead  man.  Though  they  wore  no  decoration, 
one  old  man  had  dried  pig  testicles  tied  above  his  elbows 
as  an  evidence  of  wealth.  In  their  honor,  the  chanting 
strengthened  briefly,  and  the  new  mourners  sniffed  and 
quavered  fulsomely  in  unison. 

In  the  silence  of  his  chair,  Ekitamalek  became  more  and 
more  a  presence.  While  his  people,  awaiting  the  cooking 
food,  sank  into  a  kind  of  torpor  in  the  rain,  he  himself  ap- 
peared to  vibrate  with  a  special  life,  as  if  the  spirit  which 
possesses  all  akuni  in  their  lifetimes  was  only  now  attempt- 
ing to  escape.  Littered  though  he  was  with  ornament,  he 
maintained  an  invincible  dignity;  with  his  dark  face  framed 
by  the  rich  belts,  he  looked  more  regal  and  far  wiser  than 
he  ever  had  in  his  timeless  days  as  boy  and  man  in  this  same 
sili. 

Below  him  the  rain  and  sun  gleamed  on  bare  backs  and 
large  mute  haunches,  which  seemed  to  grow  from  the  earth 
on  which  they  crouched.  Even  his  mother,  behind  the  chair, 
had  sunk  away  in  resignation.  One  woman  still  stood  before 
him,  crying  soundlessly,  with  open,  untwisted  face.  This  was 
the  sister  of  his  nami.  The  nami  himself  lived  far  away,  but 
the  sister  lived  among  the  Kurelu  and  represented  the  nami 
at  the  funeral.  While  other  women  came  and  went,  clutch- 

•     53 


ing  at  him,  scarcely  looking,  she  had  stood  there  all  that  day, 
gazing  straight  into  his  face.  The  leafy  fly  switch  in  her  hand 
was  long  since  bedraggled,  but  still  she  moved  it  aimlessly, 
as  if  transfixed. 

In  midafternoon  the  leaves  were  taken  from  the  rock 
fire,  and  people  stirred.  A  very  old  woman  in  yellow  clay 
picked  her  way  along  the  fence  as  careful  as  the  thin- 
shanked  heron  picking  its  way  along  a  ditch.  With  her  small 
back  and  tiny  breasts,  she  looked  curiously  childlike,  shy  and 
knock-kneed  as  a  little  girl.  Younger  women  came  and  went, 
fetching  the  food;  these  were  big-breasted,  with  a  heavy 
stride  and  a  determined  air,  and  many  carried  babies  on 
their  shoulders,  in  their  bellies,  or  invisible  at  the  bottoms 
of  their  nets.  The  women  would  content  themselves  with 
tubers,  for  all  the  pig  was  taken  by  the  men. 

Steadily  and  softly,  like  a  breathing  in  deep  sleep,  the 
chanting  continued  while  the  people  ate.  As  afternoon 
waned,  the  light  rain  ceased.  The  chanting  grew  once  more, 
and  Yoroick  led  it,  on  his  knees,  tears  pouring  from  his  eyes; 
his  grief,  like  that  of  the  woman  before  the  chair,  was  deep 
and  clear  as  water  of  a  spring.  Yoroick  had  moved  some 
years  ago  from  his  home  village  of  Abukumo,  after  a  dispute 
with  his  brother  Werene;  he  had  taken  his  three  sons  with 
him,  but  two  of  them  had  now  been  killed  in  war.  The  third, 
a  young  boy,  watched  him  unhappily  from  the  doorway  of  a 
hut.  Eldtamalek's  young  sisters  were  also  in  the  sili,  in  their 
little  girls'  rush  skirts:  their  part  in  the  funeral  would  be 
played  the  following  morning,  in  the  ritual  mutilation. 

While  Yoroick  grieved,  the  kains  went  forward  and 
stripped  the  body  of  its  ornaments,  and  women  came  to  take 
away  the  nets.  The  offerings,  like  the  grief  itself,  had  been 
part  ritual;  a  funeral  was  an  occasion  of  exchange,  and  those 
who  had  brought  offerings  expected  something  in  return. 
The  cowrie  belts  were  stretched  on  the  banana  fronds,  and 

54    B 


the  men  gazed  upon  them  avidly,  oblivious  of  the  denuded 
corpse  in  the  chair  a  few  feet  away.  The  Walilo  kain  Nilik, 
hawk-faced  and  ambitious,  held  up  the  shell  strands  one  by 
one  and  announced  who  would  receive  them;  the  strands 
were  awarded  according  to  the  size  of  the  pig  brought  to 
Kibitsilimo  that  morning,  and  the  former  owner  of  the 
strand  received  that  pig.  A  strand  given  to  old  Asisal  was 
seized  violently  by  another  claimant,  and  Asisal  struggled 
for  it,  screeching  in  dismay.  Asisal,  a  greedy,  troublesome 
old  man,  was  formerly  called  Hup,  after  a  bird,  because  of  a 
nervous  habit  of  peering  about  in  time  of  war  in  search  of  a 
safer  position.  When  at  last  he  was  too  old  to  go  to  war,  his 
name  was  changed  to  Asisal,  which  means  "Extruded  Rec- 
tum.'* All  the  akuni  laugh  over  this  name,  eveiqi  chagrined 
Siloba,  his  son,  who  lives  with  his  nami  U-mue  in  Wu- 
perainma. 

But  Asisal  was  in  the  right  and  got  the  belt:  the  women, 
who  took  the  funeral  more  seriously  than  the  men,  groaned 
loudly  in  disapproval  at  the  disturbance.  One  woman  re- 
ceived a  strand  in  the  name  of  the  absent  nami;  this  was  she 
who  had  stood  with  the  dead  man  all  day,  under  the  sun. 

From  Ekitamalek's  nose  black  blood  began  to  drip, 
more  and  more  rapidly,  flowing  over  his  lips  and  down  his 
side.  Soon  men  came  forward  and  cut  the  body  free,  and  a 
loud  wail  arose,  the  loudest  of  the  day — o-woo-oo — and  the 
panting  egh!  egh!  egh!  of  pain.  O — woo — oo.  The  body  was 
supported  from  behind  as  the  chair  was  dismantled  around 
it;  the  grieving  mother  got  to  her  feet  to  assist  in  the  dis- 
mantling. 

The  body  was  carried  back  to  the  fronds  before  the 
pilai.  It  had  stiffened  in  its  seated  position,  paper-skinned 
from  the  heat  of  the  sun.  The  swelling  of  the  wound  had 
spread  all  over  the  left  side.  A  warrior  held  Ekitamalek  from 
behind,  while  two  old  men  knedbd  at  his  side;  the  mother 


clambered  forward,  on  her  knees  also,  and  bent  over  to  em- 
brace his  feet,  which  were  pointed  in  toward  each  other;  for 
one  instant,  in  the  dramatic  light  of  a  sinking  sun,  she  com- 
pleted stark  harmony. 

On  the  site  of  the  dismantled  chair  a  pyre  was  being 
built,  a  wide,  strong  tier,  left  hollow  in  the  middle. 

An  old  man,  holding  a  bamboo  sliver,  attempted  to  cut 
the  arrow  tip  from  the  body.  Though  the  arrow  had  entered 
the  left  side,  it  had  apparently  worked  upward  and  cut  the 
lung;  he  widened  a  large  incision  already  made  on  the  upper 
breast.  The  arrow  was  deep  and  he  could  not  exract  it.  An- 
other old  man  cut  farther  and  at  last,  by  inserting  his  fingers 
into  the  body,  was  able  to  wrench  free  the  wood;  it  was  a 
large  piece,  the  length  of  his  hand.  This  enemy  arrow  would 
be  placed  with  other  fetish  objects  in  the  recesses  of  the 
pilai. 

The  withdrawal  of  the  arrow  had  brought  with  it  a 
strong  rush  of  dark  dead  blood,  and  with  it  a  stink  of  putre- 
faction; the  blood  drew  a  cry  of  anguish  from  the  mother. 
She  remained  kneeling,  back  to  the  pyre,  as  the  body  was 
lifted  once  again  and  borne  toward  the  flames.  There  an  old 
man  held  high  a  banana  trunk  wrapped  in  straw;  as  the 
body  was  carried  under  it,  a  warrior  shot  an  arrow  into  the 
bundle.  The  arrow  released  the  living  spirit,  which  now  be- 
came the  ghost;  the  ghost  would  go  off  into  the  enemy  coun- 
tries, where,  by  causing  trouble  and  dissension,  it  would  abet 
the  cause  of  its  former  comrades  in  the  wars  to  come.  The 
bundle  would  be  stored  with  other  bundles  in  a  small  shelter 
in  the  woods. 

Ekitamalek  was  lowered,  face  upward,  onto  the  flames. 
The  fire  was  very  hot,  and  his  bearers  were  forced  to  bend 
his  legs  in  hastily;  even  so,  one  of  the  legs,  from  the  bent 
knee  to  the  foot,  protruded  from  the  pyre  throughout  the 
cremation,  turning  the  same  blotchy  black  and  white  as  had 
56  m 


the  pig.  Other  logs  were  laid  on  top  of  him,  and  a  woman 
stoked  the  fire  with  a  pole  when  the  fiaines  lessened,  Smoke 
carried  the  smell  of  the  scorched  flesh  throughout  the  sili, 
but  the  chanting  had  died  quickly  as  the  first  flames  sank, 
and  the  men  were  talking  once  again;  already  women  were 
leaving  the  sili,  filing  out  into  the  twilight  fields. 

The  mother  crouched  close  at  the  fronds,  by  the  pud- 
dles of  mixed  pig  and  human  blood.  Yoroick  had  disappeared 
into  the  pilai.  After  a  time,  all  but  unnoticed,  she  crawled 
painfully  on  all  fours  across  the  yard  toward  her  ebeai.  There 
an  ancient  crone,  shrunk  up  in  a  tiny  bundle  like  a  dead 
spider,  reached  out  a  feathery  hand  to  her  and  drew  her  in. 


•  In  the  gathering  darkness,  the  few  yegerek  who 
had  come  to  the  funeral  fled  homeward,  darting  and  flitting 
down  the  paths  and  across  the  precarious  log  bridges  at  the 
sinkholes  and  weedy  ditches.  Pilili,  pilili — they  called  and 
regrouped  like  swift,  late-flying  birds — selimeke.  Hurry, 
hurry — the  enemy.  In  a  fit  of  nerves,  Tukum  the  swineherd 
stopped  to  urinate,  leaping  off  into  the  savanna  grass  to  do 
so;  he  crouched  modestly  in  the  grass  as  the  yegerek  always 
do,  even  among  themselves.  The  others  cried  to  him,  and  he 
ran  after  them  again,  jerking  and  twisting  through  the  dark 
bushes,  like  a  bat. 


•     57 


•  On  the  morning  after  the  funeral  the  men  of 
Kibitsilimo,  arriving  at  their  kaio,  called  out  to  the  enemy. 
They  called  the  dead  man's  name,  adding  a  long  whoop  at 
the  end  so  that  the  name  would  carry — Ekitamalek,  a-oo. 
The  whooping  was  answered  by  the  Wittaia  passing  the 
news  back  through  their  villages,  and  the  voices  rolled  across 
the  valley,  hu-a,  hu-a,  hu — a-oo. 

The  dead  man's  ghost,  hearing  this  sound,  would  stay 
in  the  Wittaia  land  and  work  its  harm,  After  a  season  there, 
it  would  return  to  the  village  of  the  dead  man.  Ekitamalek's 
water  calabash  would  be  wrapped  in  a  wisa  bundle;  the 
ghost  would  remain  in  the  vicinity  of  the  calabash,  which 
was  the  last  vestige  of  the  dead  man. 

To  lay  the  ghost,  a  pig  would  then  be  killed  and  a  piece 
given  to  his  young  brother.  The  boy  would  take  both  cala- 
bash and  meat  to  a  place  near  the  frontier.  There  he  would 
eat  the  meat  and,  leaving  the  calabash  under  a  tree,  return. 
The  ghost,  unwilling  to  leave  the  calabash,  would  remain  at 
this  place  forever. 

The  Wittaia  knew  about  the  coming  of  the  ghost,  but 
their  joy  was  stronger  than  their  dread,  and  they  whooped 
all  that  day.  In  the  afternoon  several  hundred  warriors  ap- 
peared on  the  Waraba,  where  their  celebration  might  best 
be  observed  by  the  Kurelu.  Two  large  groups  danced  and 
stamped  upon  the  ridge,  howling  and  waving  spears,  while 
before  them  young  warriors  whirled  and  pranced  with  the 
white  egret  wands,  erratic  as  butterflies  in  the  distance. 
Soon  the  Wittaia  streamed  down  the  slope  onto  the  Tokolik, 
where  the  performance  was  repeated.  A  huge  fire  had  been 
built  on  a  ridge  in  their  own  lands,  and  they  moved  toward 

58    n 


It;  there  they  danced  again.  The  next  day  they  would  stage 
the  formal  victory  celebration,  called  etai. 

The  skull  and  large  bones  of  Ekitamalek  had  not  been 
consumed  in  the  fire.  They  lay  in  the  yard  where  relatives 
and  friends  arriving  late  from  distant  villages  could  mourn 
over  them.  The  following  day  the  bones  were  gathered  and 
carried  outside  the  village.  There  they  were  buried,  and  a 
stick  shelter  constructed  around  the  place  to  keep  away  the 
pigs  and  rats  and  dogs.  On  this  day  too  there  took  place  a 
mutilation.  Though  a  few  older  men  cut  fingers  in  time  of 
grief,  it  is  usually  the  smallest  girls  who  are  selected  for  this 
ceremony,  and  a  woman  in  the  valley  whose  left  hand  is  not 
a  stump  is  very  rare.  On  this  same  day  the  first  two  joints  of 
the  two  outside  fingers  were  hacked  from  the  left  hands  of 
Ekitamalek's  small  sisters,  in  sign  of  mourning, 


II  Yeke  Asuk  and  Hanumoak,  with  their  friends 
Asukwan  of  Homaklep  and  Walimo  of  Hulibara,  are  wild 
young  warriors  of  the  southern  villages,  moving  restlessly 
from  place  to  place,  seeking  diversion  and  avoiding  work 
whenever  possible.  They  are  irreverent  and  obscene,  though 
of  the  four  only  Yeke  Asuk  is  noisy.  Yeke  Asuk,  who  has  been 
married  more  than  once,  each  time  quite  briefly,  is  older 
than  the  others  and  their  leader,  a  squat,  powerful,  bandy- 
legged warrior  and  hoarse  comic  whose  voice  is  recognizable 
at  any  distance.  Yeke  Asuk  is  a  malcontent,  whereas  the 
other  three  are  only  mischievous. 

Walimo,  Asukwan,  and  Hanumoak  are  all  three  hand- 
some— Asukwan,  with  a  huge  head  of  hair  and  a  bold  black 

B     59 


band  of  charcoal  across  his  face,  and  Walimo,  languid  and 
feckless,  with  faun  eyes  and  the  sudden  smile  of  a  small 
child,  and  Hanumoak,  supercilious  as  a  hawk.  Asukwan  is  a 
cautious  fighter,  though  he  lingers  at  war's  outskirts,  and 
Walimo  fights  erratically,  in  gallant  fits  and  starts,  but  Ha- 
numoak, in  his  casual  way,  is  one  of  the  first  warriors  of  the 
Kurelu. 

Hanumoak  is  mercurial,  as  prone  to  affectionate  silli- 
ness as  he  is  to  bored  disdain.  Hanumoak's  face  is  a  series  of 
masks — love,  terror,  outrage,  idiocy,  grief — through  which 
his  cool  eyes  shine.  The  roles  are  played  in  comic  exaggera- 
tion, and  he  is  truly  funny,  miming  everything  taken  too 
seriously  by  others;  only  his  sudden  moodiness  seems  real. 
At  these  times  he  is  deep-eyed  and  silent.  But  in  a  moment 
his  face  will  begin  to  twitch  as  if  he  were  about  to  throw  a 
fit,  and  he  will  squeal  with  infectious  laughter.  The  akuni 
laugh  with  him  in  bewilderment,  for  they  are  never  sure  that 
he  will  not  stop  laughing  suddenly  and  stare  at  them. 

On  the  day  after  the  funeral,  at  the  fire  site  above  the 
spring  at  Homuak,  Yeke  Asuk  pretended  terror  of  the  dead 
man's  ghost.  An  nai-UK,  he  squealed,  biting  his  knuckle — I 
am  afraid.  The  others  laughed,  but  Hanumoak  slipped  qui- 
etly into  an  impersonation  of  the  dead  man  in  his  chair,  then 
of  the  ghost  itself.  Pressing  his  palms  to  the  sides  of  his  face, 
he  cocked  his  ears  forward  with  his  thumbs.  With  his  little 
fingers  he  flared  his  nostrils  wide.  His  eyes  he  squinched  to 
wrinkled  slits,  sewn  up  by  death,  and,  rolling  his  tongue,  he 
pinched  its  protruding  tip  between  his  teeth,  at  the  same 
time  forcing  his  head  back  on  his  upraised  shoulders,  like  a 
man  stabbed  in  the  neck.  Thus  prepared,  he  tottered  for- 
ward, blind,  on  tiptoe,  and  despite  themselves  the  akuni 
drew  away  from  him  in  alarm.  The  men  grinned  nervously 
at  one  another,  pointing  their  fingers  at  the  distorted  figure 
that  had  been  Hanumoak  as  if  to  assure  themselves  that 

60     • 


they  were  not  alone  with  this  hallucination;  a  few,  despite 
themselves,  tapped  their  horims  with  their  fingertips  in  awe. 
Tukum  the  swineherd  stared  wide-eyed  from  one  face  to  an- 
other, and  the  older  boys  howled  out  their  fear  and  laugh- 
ter. 

Hanumoak,  who  as  Yoroick's  younger  brother  is  an 
uncle  of  the  dead  boy,  forsook  his  role  as  suddenly  as  he 
had  begun  it  and  contemplated  their  simplicity,  unsmiling. 


I  Weaklekek  of  Homaklep  had  gone  to  honor 
Ekitamalek  at  his  funeral.  But  Weaklekek  felt  uncomfort- 
able at  Kibitsilimo  and  left  the  sili  after  midday,  traveling 
homeward  over  the  fields  alone.  Like  all  the  other  men,  he 
had  gone  to  the  funeral  unarmed. 

Weaklekek's  plan  was  to  go  to  his  kaio,  on  the  knoll 
above  the  Aike  River  known  as  Puakaloba.  But  when  nearly 
there  he  changed  his  mind,  deciding  to  pass  by  way  of 
Homuak.  This  decision  probably  saved  his  life.  The  story,  as 
he  pieced  it  together  from  signs  and  footprints  the  following 
morning,  was  approximately  the  following. 

A  band  of  Wittaia,  observing  from  the  ridge  called 
Turaba  that  the  kaio  was  deserted,  staged  an  ambush  raid 
into  the  territory  of  the  Kurelu.  Unlike  the  wars,  with  their 
fanfare  and  heroics,  the  raid  has  as  its  sole  purpose  the  stalk- 
ing and  killing  of  any  smaller  party  or  unwary  individual. 
No  distinction  is  made  between  man,  woman,  or  child:  the 
spearing  of  a  little  girl  or  an  old  woman  is  ample  reason  for 
a  victory  singing.  The  kaios  are  the  consequence  of  such 
raids,  for  without  these  sentry  towers  and  the  squads  of 


armed  men  which,  during  the  day,  are  always  in  the  thatched 
shelters  below,  the  women  working  in  the  fields  would  be 
defenseless. 

But  today  the  women  were  in  mourning,  and  the  kaio 
at  Puakaloba  was  deserted.  The  Wittaia  descended  from  the 
ridge  and  crossed  the  Aike  upstream  from  the  kaio,  where 
the  river  plunges  under  a  wide  bridge  of  rock.  They  came 
downstream  again,  to  the  path  which  comes  to  the  river 
from  the  villages,  and  here,  in  the  undergrowth  and  cane, 
they  lay  in  hiding.  They  could  not  go  farther  for  fear  of  be- 
ing surprised  and  surrounded;  the  ambush  of  a  raiding  party 
is  almost  as  common  as  the  raid  itself. 

They  waited  all  that  day,  but  no  one  came.  The  Aike 
frontier  is  a  favorite  raiding  place  of  the  Wittaia,  and  the 
people,  knowing  this,  take  care  to  avoid  it,  especially  when 
there  is  no  guard  at  Puakaloba,  In  the  late  afternoon,  for 
want  of  a  better  plan,  the  Wittaia  attacked  the  empty  sentry 
post,  putting  the  shelter  to  the  torch  and  toppling  the  watch- 
tower  itself.  It  lay  there  the  next  morning,  broken  in  a  tangle 
of  lianas,  like  a  dropped  bundle  of  giant  twigs. 

Weaklekek,  inspecting  the  ruin  of  his  kaio,  knew  very 
well  that,  had  he  come  there  in  the  middle  of  the  day  before, 
he  would  now  be  sitting  in  his  own  yard  at  Homaklep,  in  a 
wooden  chair. 

Puakaloba  is  spoken  of  as  the  kaio  of  Weaklekek,  but  in 
fact  it  is  the  common  property  and  responsibility  of  those 
men  living  in  Homaklep  and  Wuperainma  whose  fields  and 
women  it  helps  to  guard.  Nevertheless,  Weaklekek  is  the 
chief  warrior  of  the  kaio  and  had  to  see  to  it  that  the  kaio 
was  restored  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

Work  on  the  kaio  began  almost  immediately.  Asukwan, 
who  lives  in  Weaklekek's  pilai,  went  down  to  the  Aike  River, 
fifty  yards  away.  He  entered  the  river  and  angled  across  the 
swollen  current  which  seeped  over  the  banks,  shoulder  high 

62    m 


out  of  the  water  in  the  stiff  sidestroke  of  the  akunl  On  the 
far  side  was  a  place  in  the  riverain  forest  where  he  could 
find  the  long  liana  used  to  bind  the  thin  poles  of  the  tower. 

In  the  wood  south  of  Puakaloba,  Tegearek  and  Asok- 
meke  cut  the  new  poles.  Asok-meke  is  head  of  the  warriors' 
sili — Tegearek,  Siba,  Tuesike,  Tekman  Bio — which  adjoins 
the  sili  of  U-mue  in  Wuperainma;  it  was  U-mue  who  gave 
him  his  strange  name,  which  means  "Outsider."  For  some 
reason  Asok-meke  had  not  bothered  to  attend  a  pig  feast 
given  by  U-mue,  who  dismissed  him  in  anger.,  saying,  He  is 
not  one  of  us — he  is  asok-meke.  Since  then  the  men  of  the 
two  silis  have  been  distant  with  one  another.  Asok-meke,  a 
reflective  man  of  middle  years,  is  the  stepfather  of  the  boy 
Tukurn;  at  the  tip  of  his  horim  he  wears  invariably  the  great 
spiny  cocoon  of  a  drab  woodland  moth. 

The  hollow  tock  of  the  stone  adze  echoed  along  the 
silent  river  like  the  call  of  a  lost  bird.  On  the  rise  itself,  Siba 
and  Weaklekek  dug  a  new  foundation.  Aloro  the  lame  man 
sat  in  the  shelter,  observing:  this  was  not  his  kaio,  and  he 
took  no  part  in  the  work. 

The  spears  were  leaned  against  the  sides  of  the  shelter, 
sharp  and  clean  against  a  bright  blue  sky.  Some  of  these,  of 
a  light  white  wood,  were  imported  from  the  Yali  River  tribes 
four  days  to  the  eastward,  but  most  were  of  a  heavy  reddish 
myrtle  wood,  from  the  eucalyptus-like  yoli.  Some  speaxs 
were  eighteen  feet  in  length,  with  an  ornamental  sleeve 
below  the  flat,  sharpened  blade;  they  were  tapered  to  a  dufl 
point  at  the  butt  so  that  the  spear  might  be  stuck  into  the 
ground. 

In  the  corner  of  the  shelter  lay  the  bows  and  arrows. 
The  bows  are  small,  about  four  feet  long,  scarcely  longer 
than  the  arrows,  and  cut  usually  from  a  woodland  rhododen- 
dron or  from  laurel.  The  bowstring  is  not  a  string  at  all  but 
a  flat,  hard  strip  of  rattan.  It  is  perhaps  a  quarter-inch  in 


width,  too  wide  to  permit  the  use  of  arrow  notches,  and  this 
factor,  in  combination  with  the  fact  that  the  arrows  are  un~ 
feathered,  makes  the  accuracy  of  men  like  Aloro  the  more 
remarkable. 

The  arrows  themselves  are  thin  spears  of  hard  cane  and 
differ  chiefly  in  their  heads.  For  war,  the  preferred  head  is  a 
myrtle  shaft,  unbarbed,  about  a  foot  in  length:  most  of  this 
length  is  inserted  in  the  cane,  and  it  is  bound  at  the  junction 
by  fine  strands  of  ground  vine.  Another  arrowhead  of  war  is 
notched  with  one  to  three  files  of  jagged  teeth;  its  advantage 
is  that  it  must  be  cut  out  from  the  flesh.  Sometimes  the 
notches  are  reversed  close  to  the  shaft,  so  that  the  arrow 
cannot  be  drawn  on  through  an  arm  or  leg.  Both  of  these 
arrows  are  weakened  at  the  base  of  the  point,  to  insure  that 
they  will  snap  off  inside  the  wound,  and  both  are  wrapped, 
more  often  than  not,  with  a  loose  strand  of  sharp  fiber  from 
the  woody  ground  orchid;  when  the  arrow  is  withdrawn,  the 
orchid  fiber  slides  off  and  remains  inside.  It  is  believed  to 
cause  unusual  pain  and  inflammation. 

There  is  also  the  bleeding  arrow,  and  varieties  of  hunt- 
ing arrows,  with  heavy  heads  knobbed  with  two  to  five 
sharp  prongs;  these  are  designed  for  birds  and  the  small 
mammals.  A  few  of  the  cane  arrow  shafts  bear  decorative 
scratchings,  and  the  wooden  points  may  be  engraved  with 
crude  designs  cut  into  them  with  a  mouse  tooth:  the  marks 
on  certain  arrows  represent  the  sole  decoration  practiced  by 
the  Kurelu. 

Asukwan  returned  from  across  the  river,  dragging  a 
long  coil  of  liana.  He  had  lost  his  horim  in  the  Aike  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  morning  kept  his  back  and  side  to  all  the 
others.  Asukwan,  who  is  much  admired  by  the  women,  is 
very  conscious  of  his  appearance:  without  his  horim  he  felt 
himself  indecent  and  was  very  upset  and  embarrassed. 

New  poles  had  been  brought  and  were  inserted  in  the 
64  m 


hole;  the  poles  were  lashed  together  at  intervals  of  five  feet, 
or  wherever  a  man  standing  on  the  fresh  band  of  liana  could 
comfortably  start  the  next  binding  above.  Where  the  poles 
began  to  taper,  smaller  sticks  were  inserted  down  between 
them,  to  build  the  kaio  at  a  uniform  diameter.  Moving 
slowly  up  the  tower,  Tegearek  and  Weaklekek  and  Siba,  all 
powerful  men,  worked  in  sure  harmony,  with  neither  haste 
nor  rest;  they  braced  their  feet  and  hauled  on  the  lianas, 
leaning  out  against  the  dark  horizon  of  the  mountain  rim, 
the  hard  muscles  of  their  arms  and  buttocks  corded  with 
effort. 

The  binding  finished,  short  lengths  of  stone-hewn  board 
were  passed  to  Siba,  whose  husky  form,  with  its  tattered 
crown  of  soiled  green  parrot  feathers,  gleamed  black  on  the 
hard  sky  of  noon.  Above  his  head  a  goshawk,  its  reddish 
breast  washed  to  pale  pink  by  the  sunlight  burning  through 
its  wings,  circled  in  tight-brained  curiosity. 

Siba  bound  the  boards  into  a  sturdy  platform,  two  or 
three  feet  below  the  sapling  tips.  White  puffs  of  cumulus, 
sailing  south  on  the  high  winds  above  the  valley,  seemed 
frozen  in  the  air,  while  Siba,  grinning  wildly  on  his  flying 
platform,  rode  northward  against  the  sky. 

In  the  shelter,  Aloro  played  on  a  small  mouth  harp.  This 
sole  musical  instrument  of  the  akuni  is  made  in  two  different 
keys,  one  high,  one  low.  A  half -section  of  cane  is  scraped 
out  with  chips  of  flint,  then  polished  smooth  with  a  fibrous 
grass  used  as  a  sandpaper.  A  reed  is  cut  free  down  the  center 
of  the  section,  and  a  fiber  thread  attached  at  the  base  end. 
The  mouth  harp  is  vibrated  with  short  tugs  of  the  thread, 
the  cavern  of  the  player's  mouth  giving  it  resonance. 

The  lame  man,  playing,  stared  abstractedly  at  the  fields. 
There  was  no  melody,  but  only  a  series  of  rhythmic  notes 
up  and  down  a  foreshortened  scale.  The  frail  sound  he  pro- 
duced was  eerie,  scarcely  audible  in  the  bright  noise  of  day- 

•    65 


light,  like  an  ominous  echo  from  remote  regions  of  his  mind. 

A  few  feet  behind  Aloro,  outside  the  shelter,  stood  a 
small  arbor  of  the  horim  gourd;  stone  weights  had  been  at- 
tached to  the  gourds  so  that  this  vegetable,  shaped  naturally 
like  a  water  drop  or  tear,  would  assume  the  fine  elongate 
shape  required  by  the  warriors.  Beside  the  frame  a  boy  built 
a  fire.  Into  this  fire,  tied  in  a  small  bundle,  he  placed  stalks 
of  a  heavy  grass.  When  this  had  scorched  a  little,  it  was 
taken  from  the  fire,  and  the  leaves  were  strewn  in  a  small 
circle  on  the  raw  earth  around  the  kaio.  This  grass  is  a  sym- 
bolic offering  to  the  great  company  of  friendly  ghosts  who 
would  keep  watch  with  the  kaio's  men,  as  sentinels. 

Weaklekek  now  fashioned  a  toy  bow  and  three  arrows 
of  twigs  and  sticks.  These  he  inserted  among  the  kaio  poles, 
about  two  feet  from  the  ground.  The  bow  and  arrows  sym- 
bolize the  area's  defense,  insuring  that  any  enemy  who  ven- 
tures within  sight  of  the  kaio  will  be  struck  down. 

Finally,  all  the  men  who  had  participated  in  the  re- 
building of  the  tower  underwent  a  purification  ritual. 
The  new  materials  of  the  kaio  were  considered  wisa,  and, 
until  the  wisa  ban  had  been  removed,  the  men  involved 
could  not  indulge  in  food  or  drink,  tobacco,  or  copulation. 
Near  the  center  pole  of  the  shelter  a  tuft  of  red  parrot  feather 
affixed  to  a  small  straw  had  been  stuck  into  the  ground.  The 
feather  was  presently  taken  by  Weaklekek  and  passed  back 
and  forth  an  inch  or  so  above  the  hands  that  had  done  the 
work. 

The  kaio  ceremony  is  wisa  because  of  the  importance 
of  these  towers  in  the  life  of  the  akuni.  The  kaios  must  guard 
a  frontier  with  the  enemy  which  extends  several  miles;  there 
are  twelve  of  them  in  the  southern  fields  alone,  and  each  of 
these  may  post  a  guard  of  four  to  ten  warriors  at  a  time. 
Visiting  warriors  come  and  go,  and  the  kaio,  the  great  part 
of  the  time,  is  little  more  than  a  kind  of  outdoor  pilai.  Here 
66  m 


the  men  gather  to  talk  and  smoke,  to  weave  shell  belts  and 
mend  arrows,  while  around  them  the  women  labor  in  the 
fields.  High  on  the  tower  at  Puakaloba,  one  of  their  number 
watches  for  movement  in  the  river  forest. 

Weaklekek's  kaio  must  guard  against  any  approach  by 
way  of  the  Turaba;  it  guards  as  well  a  segment  of  the  main 
frontier  just  off  to  the  westward.  It  is  well  situated  on  a  high 
grassy  bank,  commanding  a  view  not  only  of  the  gardens 
but  of  the  low  river  woods. 

At  Puakaloba,  a  few  years  ago,  there  took  place  a  great 
victory  of  the  Kurelu.  From  the  top  of  the  tower  a  raiding 
party  of  Wittaia  had  been  observed;  the  enemy  were  sneak- 
ing through  the  river  woods,  intent  on  a  surprise  attack 
against  the  outnumbered  guard.  The  men  signaled  the  next 
kaio  for  assistance,  and  the  word  was  passed  along,  while 
the  Wittaia  completed  a  roundabout  maneuver.  The  Wittaia 
crept  stealthily  into  the  trap,  and  before  they  could  extricate 
themselves  five  of  their  warriors  had  been  killed. 

Across  the  Aike  is  the  steep  ridge,  Turaba,  which  rises 
abruptly  just  behind  the  wall  of  the  river  forest;  the  foot  of 
the  Turaba  is  scarcely  two  hundred  yards  from  the  kaio  it- 
self. The  ridge  is  an  inhospitable  array  of  limestone,  jagged 
and  tumbled,  haired  over  with  low  scrub.  Because  it  is  un- 
inhabitable, and  because  of  its  location,  it  serves  as  a  natural 
barrier  in  a  corner  of  the  valley  where  lands  of  the  Kurelu, 
the  Siep  peoples,  and  the  Wittaia  come  together.  It  is  also  a 
natural  path  of  ambush  and  surveillance,  and,  as  such,  is 
generally  avoided.  On  one  occasion  Weaklekek  and  a  com- 
panion went  up  onto  the  Turaba  to  scout,  and  the  other 
man,  ahead  of  Weaklekek,  was  waylaid  by  hiding  enemy. 
They  killed  the  man  and  very  nearly  caught  Weaklekek,  who 
managed  to  escape  across  the  river. 

Like  the  hill  above  Homuak,  the  Turaba  is  a  salient  of 
the  mountain  wall,  though  it  begins  but  halfway  up  the  wall 

m    67 


rather  than  at  the  crest,  and  extends  much  farther  outward, 
dying  at  last  in  forsaken  country  now  thought  of  as  no 
man's  land.  The  Turaba,  like  all  the  no  man's  land  of  the 
frontiers,  is  known  as  Place  of  Fear. 

Today  the  Wittaia  women  could  be  seen  dancing  on  a 
hillcrest  to  the  westward.  In  the  morning  the  men  of  Kibit- 
silimo,  going  to  their  kaio,  had  chanted  of  the  death  of  Ekita- 
malek,  and  the  men  at  the  Wittaia  kaios  had  raised  a  whoop 
of  triumph.  The  afternoon  the  Wittaia  came  in  war  regalia 
to  the  Waraba,  dancing  and  singing. 

The  men  in  the  new  kaio  watched  the  enemy  without 
comment.  Ekitamalek  was  the  first  man  they  had  lost  since 
the  last  full  moon,  while  the  Wittaia  had  lost  four;  the  Ku- 
relu  had  learned  this  from  a  Siep  man  who  was  friendly  with 
both  factions  of  his  tribe  and  had  spread  the  news.  The 
Wittaia  had  not  announced  the  names,  and,  until  they  did, 
no  etai  could  take  place.  But  sooner  or  later  the  names  would 
come,  and  the  Kurelu  would  hold  an  etai  of  their  own. 


•  In  late  April  the  rains  had  come  each  afternoon. 

The  Aike  was  very  high,  and  the  sandpipers  which,  a  few 
short  weeks  before,  were  common  on  the  river  logs  and  mud- 
banks,  had  disappeared. 

The  Aike  in  its  upper  reaches  is  the  southern  frontier 
of  the  Kurelu.  It  slides  down  off  the  mountain  wall  in  a  steep 
narrow  rush,  only  to  plunge  beneath  the  rock  once  more  at 
the  head  of  the  riverain  forest.  Fifty  yards  below  it  bursts 
forth  once  again,  forming  a  pool  already  as  wide  as  the  river 
will  become.  Less  than  a  quarter-mile  beyond,  it  passes  the 
kaio  at  Puakaloba,  and  a  mile  below  this  point  disappears 
into  the  lands  of  the  Wittaia. 

Unlike  the  Wittaia,  who  build  villages  on  the  Aike,  and 
who  have  spanned  it  with  rickety  pole  bridges,  the  Kurelu 
go  near  the  river  seldom.  They  can  swim  the  Aike  if  they 
have  to,  but  their  solitary  bridge,  built  downriver  close  to 
the  frontier,  is  sagging  with  disuse.  No  native  boats  are 
known  in  the  Baliem,  and  the  Kurelu  lack  even  the  crude 
rafts  used  by  most  other  tribes;  they  cannot  travel  safely  on 
the  river  and  have  nothing  on  the  farther  side  but  the  Place 
of  Fear. 

Nor  does  the  river  bring  them  food.  The  Baliem  system, 
if  and  when  it  formed  a  lake,  lacked  native  fishes,  and  its 
present  gorge  at  the  south  end  of  the  valley  has  prevented 
the  passage  into  the  mountains  of  fish  from  the  southern 
marshes.  The  valley  is  without  fish  of  any  kind,  and  the  one 
valuable  creature  found  in  all  its  waters  can  be  taken  more 
easily  and  safely  in  the  streams.  This  is  a  fresh-water  cray- 
fish, which  in  the  small  streams  attains  a  length  of  four  or 
five  inches:  the  boys  feel  for  it  with  their  toes,  walking  the 
mud. 

Of  the  three  terrains  open  to  the  akuni — the  valley  plain 

•     69 


which,  they  have  farmed,  the  cloud  forest  rising  behind 
them,  and  the  river  forests  on  their  southern  border — it  is 
the  latter  where  they  feel  least  at  home.  Sometimes  they  go 
down  to  the  Aike  for  a  drink,  or  to  gather  lianas  and  certain 
woods,  but  otherwise  the  river  is  avoided.  It  lies  too  near 
the  Turaba,  and  the  natural  bridge  where  the  river  roars 
underground,  overhung  by  jungle  trees  and  dark,  dripping 
limestone  grottoes,  is  considered  a  place  of  ghosts.  This  is  a 
dank  world  of  air  plants,  crowding  for  space  on  every  limb, 
of  myrmecodias  with  their  colonies  of  ants,  of  fleshy  orchids 
and  pale-bellied  ferns.  Below,  in  the  clefts  and  shadows,  the 
fungi  thrive  in  the  slow  seepings,  clematis  trails  across  the 
rocks,  and  miniature  begonias,  white  and  pink,  flower  in 
secret  in  the  rotting  shades.  In  the  motionless  air,  only  the 
silent  woodland  butterfly  takes  wing,  skipping  its  delicate 
trail  of  filtered  sunspots.  The  insects  of  the  rain  forest  gnaw 
stealthily  under  leaves  and  behind  wood,  the  huge  horned 
beetles  and  great  papery  cicadas,  the  armored  millipedes 
and  dusty  moths,  and  the  spined  crab  spiders.  In  the  earth 
beneath  the  insects  and  the  spiders,  its  soft  body  protected 
by  the  detritus  of  the  forest  floor,  there  stirs  an  earthworm 
four  feet  long.  The  skinks,  so  common  in  the  sun,  are  missing 
in  the  shadows.  In  the  crevice  of  the  grotto  rock  is  wedged 
the  skeleton  of  a  dead  dog. 

This  forest  is  not  silent.  Honey  eaters  come  and  go  with 
chortlings  and  shrieks,  and  a  flock  of  parrots,  gold  and  red 
and  black,  and  the  tiny  brilliant  myzomela.  The  parrots  and 
parakeets  scour  the  canopies  of  the  river  forest  and  the  for- 
est of  the  upper  slope  and  rim;  they  are  seen  in  the  valley's 
open  air  but  fleetingly,  in  high,  swift  flocks,  at  dawn.  They 
shatter  the  dank  air  with  their  screeching  and  vanish  into 
the  mountain  mist  which  seeps  each  morning  down  the 
ridge,  thinned  out  by  the  pale,  cataracted  eye  of  the  climb- 
ing sun- 

70     B 


•  Tukum  the  swineherd,  elf-faced  and  pot-bellied, 
shouted  gruffly  at  Ms  pigs  while  his  mother  shouted  at  him. 
He  was  followed  on  his  way  not  only  by  pigs  but  by  small 
girls  and  women;  they  went  along  through  the  low  wood  to 
the  fields  in  front  of  Homuak. 

Tukum's  horim  is  forever  askew,  tucked  sideways  under 
his  belly;  there  is  straw  in  his  hair  and  gray  dust  on  his  skin. 
He  marched  along,  a  half-hiperi  in  his  hand,  and  now  and 
again  he  stifled  his  own  growling  by  plunging  his  round  face 
into  it. 

Tukum  hated  pigs,  and  though  he  tended  them  nearly 
every  day,  the  very  idea  made  his  huge  eyes  overflow.  At 
these  moments  he  looked  more  like  an  elf  than  ever.  Tukum 
is  nearly  four  feet  tall  and  looks,  not  full  grown,  but  com- 
plete. In  his  way,  Tukum  is  spiritual;  his  natural  haunt  is 
not  the  pigsty  but  the  toadstool,  Tukum,  with  his  wild 
brown  eyes  and  portly  evanescence,  does  not  belong  among 
the  flies  and  swine,  nor  even  in  the  sun,  but  in  the  ferny 
glades  of  distant  woods. 


•  In  the  night  before  a  sunny  day  of  May,  in  the 
hill  village  of  Lokoparek,  Ekapuwe  had  a  child,  a  little  girl. 
The  birth  was  a  simple  one,  assisted  only  by  an  older  woman 
of  the  village.  Ekapuwe  took  the  baby  in  her  stride  and  by 
midmorning  was  sitting  up  in  her  ebeai,  smoking  tobacco 

•    71 


in  her  long  holder  and  chattering  with  her  usual  good- 
humored  petulance. 

On  the  occasion  of  a  birth  the  child's  nami  usually 
comes  and  wraps  a  ceremonial  cowrie  belt  about  its  head. 
But  Lokoparek  is  a  long  way  up  the  hill,  and  girl  children 
are  not  important,  and  for  one  reason  or  another — the  akuni 
are  often  informal  about  minor  ceremonials  and  waive  them 
readily  when  it  is  expedient — this  little  girl  was  suffered  to 
embark  upon  her  life  without  a  shell  belt.  She  will  pass  a 
week  or  two  in  the  darkness  of  the  ebeai,  after  which  she  will 
take  up  a  residence  of  indefinite  length  at  the  bottom  of 
Ekapuwe's  nets. 

The  new  baby  was  U-mue's  third  girl  child — he  has  no 
son  as  yet — but  even  so  he  was  anxious  and  solicitous  and 
gave  a  great  many  senseless  orders,  interspersed  with  fits  of 
shouting,  U-mue  dearly  loves  a  drama,  the  more  tempestu- 
ous the  better;  the  joy  he  takes  in  the  passions  of  the  mind 
is  childlike  in  its  abandon.  Wracked  with  grief  or  rent  by 
rage — it  is  all  one  to  him,  he  is  in  his  element. 

I  will  go  off  into  the  mountains,  U-mue  cries,  striking  a 
pose,  Never  to  return  again — and  his  quick,  sly  face  collapses 
in  comic  grief.  For  he  enjoys  himself  hugely  at  these  mo- 
ments, though  he  tries  heroically  to  muster  tears,  eked  out 
with  dreadful  sounds,  part  grief,  part  laughter.  When  out- 
rageous, he  caws  and  swirls  like  a  bird  of  paradise,  but  in 
his  way  he  is  a  kindly  man;  he  is  often  with  his  small  Nylare, 
walking  and  talking,  holding  her  hand.  Like  most  of  the 
men,  he  treats  his  little  girls  with  the  same  gentleness  that 
boys  receive  only  from  their  namis. 

U-mue  is  both  charlatan  and  buffoon,  but  he  is  intelli- 
gent, perhaps  the  most  intelligent  of  all  the  akuni,  a  states- 
man and  deft  intriguer  who,  for  all  his  frailties,  is  a  true 
leader,  demanding  and  receiving  strict  obedience  from  his 

72    • 


people.  The  people  respect  U-mue's  intelligence,  his  pride 
in  and  exhaustive  knowledge  of  alcuni  ways,  alcuni  cere- 
monials and  family  lines.  U-mue  has  whimsy  in  his  face;  he 
seems  to  be  laughing,  from  time  to  time,  at  insights  that  his 
people  will  not  ever  understand,  but  this  laughter  is  veiled 
and  rueful,  as  if  he  did  not  know  the  source  of  it  himself. 


I  The  time  of  dawn  and  the  first  sun  is  called  the 

morning-of -bird-voices,  and  is  quite  distinct  from  the  ordi- 
nary morning,  which  comes  later.  Today  a  pigeon  called  in 
the  high  araucaria  all  through  the  moming-of-bird-voices, 
and  the  warriors,  as  if  stimulated  by  this  sound,  went  to  war 
when  morning  came.  The  great  war  kain  Wereklowe  strode 
out  toward  the  frontier,  and  behind  him  trotted  Yeke  Asuk, 
decked  out  in  fierce  red  clay.  The  armies  would  take  some 
time  to  form,  and  in  the  next  hours,  as  the  sun  gained 
strength,  a  silence  lay  upon  the  fields.  Only  the  black  robin 
chat  sang  its  sweet  liquid  song:  this  bird  appears  to  have  an 
affinity  for  war,  for  it  perches  commonly  on  the  tips  of  spears 
implanted  on  the  ground,  or  on  the  tops  of  kaios,  and  sings 
even  in  the  midday  hours,  at  the  outskirts  of  a  battle. 

The  older  men  moved  gradually  toward  the  Tokolik. 
Embracing,  two  bony  elders  stood  together  in  the  green- 
purple  leaves,  gazing  outward  at  the  Waraba.  Few  Wittaia 
had  appeared  on  the  far  crest,  and  there  now  seemed  doubt 
that  there  would  be  a  war. 

An  hour  more  passed  by  as  tension  slackened,  and  the 
enemy  did  not  appear.  The  kains  returned  across  the  fields 

•    73 


and  gathered  at  a  fire  in  the  araucaria  grove.  This  fire  site,  on 
a  ledge  of  needles  under  a  deep  bank  of  fern,  is  often  used 
for  councils,  for  it  lies  between  the  two  main  groups  of 
southern  villages,  overlooking  the  cool  spring  of  Homuak.  In 
a  hollow  trunk  above  the  ledge  dried  graybeard  lichen, 
which  tatters  the  araucaria,  is  stored  as  tinder,  and  with  it  a 
small  bundle  of  long  tobacco  pipes. 

Several  warriors  and  yegerek  loitered  in  attendance,  but 
Wereklowe  himself  clambered  up  onto  the  slope  above  to 
gather  dry  sticks  and  grass:  this  is  partly  because  Wereklowe 
cannot  contain  his  energy  and  must  see  to  it  personally  that 
all  matters  proceed  as  rapidly  as  possible.  But  it  is  also  true 
of  the  great  kains  that  nobody  is  asked  to  do  what  they  will 
not  do  or  have  not  often  done  themselves,  whether  going  to 
the  fore  in  battle  or  picking  lice  from  a  child's  head. 

The  men  talked  quietly  and  quickly  in  their  low  sweet 
voices:  every  little  while  one  would  reach  forward  and  place 
a  twig  or  fagot  in  the  flame,  the  hand  seeming  to  know  by 
instinct  just  where  the  twig  should  lie.  The  fire  neither  grew 
nor  faltered.  They  moistened  the  dried  lisanika  leaves  for 
their  tobacco  and  talked  and  talked,  for  it  is  at  these  fires 
that  news  is  passed  and  war  discussed  and  the  affairs  of  the 
valley  regulated.  The  sound  of  smoking — a  soft,  implosive 
phoot  made  by  pressing  the  tongue  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth 
as  the  smoke  is  taken  in — was  a  rhythm  of  the  conversation, 
which  was  gentle  and  deferential,  little  more  than  a  mur- 
mur, and  at  the  same  time  rapid  and  intense. 

Limo,  the  tall  war  kain  of  the  Alua,  ground  his  teeth  in 
a  loud,  ruminative  manner.  AH  men  of  the  akuni  grind  their 
teeth  habitually,  in  pauses  between  speech,  but  few  as  pow- 
erfully and  rhythmically  as  Limo.  Also  expert  are  the  young 
warriors  Huonke  and  Asukwan;  these  men  are  audible  at 
thirty  feet.  Loud  Huonke  with  his  hard,  furtive  face  was 
present  at  the  outskirts  of  the  kains,  his  expression  insolent 
74  m 


and  cornered;  Huonke  has  never  killed  an  enemy  warrior, 
though  he  once  took  the  life  of  a  woman  of  the  Siep-Elortak 
found  wandering  near  the  frontier. 

Wereklowe  and  U-mue  led  the  talking,  and  once  the 
other  men  rapped  their  horims  with  their  fingernails  in  a 
fast  staccato  racketing,  saying  u-yuh  in  quiet  exclamation, 
and  a  soft,  explosive  f-whe-oosh.  The  horim  is  invariably 
tapped  at  moments  of  astonishment  or  awe,  and  when  a 
number  of  men  are  astonished  all  at  once  a  sound  rises  like  a 
gust  of  chattering  finches  in  tall  dry  stalks  of  cane. 

At  the  edge  of  the  circle  the  men  and  boys  squatted  in 
silence;  though  some  were  kepu,  they  were  neither  disre- 
garded nor  dismissed.  With  few  exceptions,  the  kains  do  not 
brandish  power  or  maintain  distinctions  of  a  social  kind 
between  their  akuni  and  themselves.  Any  strange  boy  or 
halt  old  man,  except  in  the  most  urgent  councils,  may  sit  at 
the  side  of  Kurelu  himself,  or  Wereklowe  or  Nilik,  and  may 
even  have  his  head  picked  by  his  betters.  Generosity  and 
simplicity  of  manner  are  marks  of  the  great  kain  and  are  re- 
garded as  such  by  one  and  all.  Of  the  chief  kains  among  the 
Kurelu,  only  Maitmo  of  the  Haiman  clan,  north  of  the  Elo- 
kera,  keeps  his  people  at  a  distance;  he  is  a  small  belligerent 
man,  with  a  shrill,  distempered  voice  when  he  is  angry,  and 
the  awe  in  which  all  kains  are  held  is  in  this  case  tinged  by 
fear.  While  Nilik  of  the  Walilo  is  also  fierce,  and  Wereklowe 
and  Polik  indulge  fits  of  violence,  these  men  do  not  abuse 
their  power;  the  young  war  kains  Husuk  and  Weaklekek, 
like  Kurelu  himself,  are  almost  invariably  soft-spoken.  Ku- 
relu listens  and  listens,  watching,  watching,  and,  though  he 
is  a  harmless-looking  man,  he  is  the  most  powerful  of  all. 

The  Kurelu,  perhaps  twelve  years  ago,  were  split  into 
two  warring  tribes,  separated  roughly  by  the  Elokera  River. 
In  those  days  the  north  was  already  led  by  Kut-ilu,  the  Wise 
Egret.  His  name,  from  which  was  taken  the  name  of  the 

m  rs 


eventual  alliance,  referred  not  only  to  his  intelligence  but  to 
the  light  color  of  his  skin.  In  those  days  too  the  southern 
Kurelu  were  allied  with  the  Wittaia:  the  patterns  of  old 
ditches  rolling  beneath  wild  grass,  with  the  banana  trees  of 
abandoned  villages  now  grown  up  in  woods,  are  skeletons  of 
distant  days  when  the  area  of  the  Waraba  was  not  a  Place  of 
Fear  but  peaceful  garden. 

Thus  the  alliances  in  the  northeastern  valley  are  tran- 
sient and  uneasy,  and  it  is  never  certain  from  one  season  to 
the  next  which  group  will  represent  the  enemy:  a  child  pro- 
tected fiercely  as  a  member  of  one's  own  people  may  become 
an  enemy  overnight,  to  be  killed  on  sight,  without  ever  be- 
ing old  enough  to  know  the  difference.  In  the  Kurelu,  though 
many  clans  have  intermingled  in  the  villages  and  are  well 
represented  north  and  south  of  the  Elokera,  the  bad  feeling 
between  the  groups  persists,  and  men  fleeing  the  wrath  of 
one  side  may  still  find  sanctuary  in  the  other.  Weaklekek  and 
the  cold-eyed  warrior  Apeore  are  among  many  who  have 
taken  refuge  in  the  south,  where  their  respective  clans — 
Alua  and  Wilil — are  more  strongly  represented. 

A  feud,  which  could  occur  at  any  time,  is  feared  by  the 
great  kains,  for  it  could  lead  not  only  to  a  weakening  of  the 
alliance  against  the  Wittaia  but  to  a  merciless  civil  war, 
fanned  by  old  grudges.  Those  most  likely,  to  cause  trouble 
are  Maitmo  and  Amoli,  war  kains  of  the  clan  Haiman,  who 
go  out  of  their  way  to  take  offense. 

The  Haiman  kain  Amoli,  whose  village  of  Hulainmo 
lies  just  across  the  Elokera,  shares  with  Weaklekek  the 
reputation  of  hunuk  palin,  which  refers  to  fits  of  manic 
bravery  in  battle,  joined  with  a  capacity,  when  in  temper, 
to  take  life  among  one's  own  people.  Hunuk  palin  men,  few 
in  number,  are  very  well  known  and  are  treated  prudently; 
in  the  southern  Kurelu,  besides  Weaklekek,  the  hunuk  palin 
are  Apeore,  Polik,  Tegearek,  Limo,  Asikanalek,  and  Husuk. 
76  m 


Asikanalek  and  Husuk  are  both  warm,  quiet  men,  and  their 
reputation  as  hmmk  palin  is  as  surprising  as  the  exclusion 
from  this  category  of  a  fanatic  warrior  like  Aloro, 

All  of  these  men  but  one  are  war  kains,  and  most  lead 
their  own  villages.  Even  Tegearek,  though  young  and  with- 
out great  wealth,  shares  with  Aloro  the  war  leadership  of  the 
southern  Wilil,  due  to  a  reluctance  to  fulfill  this  role  on  the 
part  of  U-mue. 

The  exception  is  Apeore,  who  is  an  exception  in  many 
ways.  Of  the  best  Wilil  warriors,  only  Aloro  and  Apeore  do 
not  live  in  Wuperainma.  Aloro  lives  in  Abulopak,  which  was 
formerly  the  central  village  of  the  Wilil  and  where  his  father 
still  maintains  a  sili,  but  Apeore  has  withdrawn  to  Loko- 
parek,  under  the  mountain  wall;  he  has  no  family,  for  his 
only  wife  was  stolen  by  the  Wittaia.  Unlike  Ekali  and 
U-mue,  who  go  to  Lokoparek  to  see  to  their  pigs,  Apeore 
remains  there.  He  is  slashing  a  field  out  of  high  forest  to  the 
southward  and  works  relentlessly,  day  in,  day  out,  like  a 
man  possessed. 

No  other  man  resembles  Apeore,  who  is  yellow  mongol 
in  his  color,  whose  forehead  slants  back  to  a  scalp  drawn 
tight  beneath  a  head  net  so  that  his  skin  seems  stretched, 
whose  browless  eyes  are  flat  and  cold  in  a  face  as  hairless  as 
a  skull.  Apeore's  skin  gleams  with  fresh  grease,  and  his 
muscles  slide  powerfully  beneath  it. 

Apeore  is  seen  rarely  at  the  kaios,  and  he  is  rarely  seen 
at  war.  When  he  comes,  he  comes  to  fight  His  legs  are 
painted  with  gray  clay,  and  he  appears  suddenly  out  of  no- 
where, stalking  quietly,  alone,  at  the  edge  of  the  underbrush 
near  the  front  line.  Apeore  fled  long  ago  from  the  northern 
Kurelu,  and  his  full  name,  Apearole,  which  commemorates 
the  murder  by  the  northerners  of  his  best  friend,  means 
"Killed  by  Strangling." 


77 


•  In  the  middle  of  the  day  the  yegerek  Supuk  and 
Tukum,  Uwar  and  Kabilek,  were  gathering  firewood  by  the 
small  stream  which  flows  in  front  of  Abulopak.  The  air  was 
gold  and  humid,  and  the  three  kites  which  haunt  the  crest 
of  the  ridge  above  jeered  at  each  other  in  the  heat.  By  Abu- 
lopak a  small  myrtle  tree  had  come  into  pink  flower,  and  the 
finches  with  their  black  heads  and  blue  bills  droned  like  fat 
bees  in  the  high  brakes  of  cane. 

Supuk  climbed  into  an  oak  to  knock  down  old  dead 
limbs.  One  limb,  breaking  open  on  the  ground,  revealed  a 
tiny  twilight  bat,  torpid  with  sleep,  and  a  hidden  clutch  of 
large  white  snake  eggs,  thirty-five  or  more.  Some  of  the 
snakes  had  already  hatched  and  gone,  making  their  way 
down  the  great  tree  on  its  rough  bark,  but  most  of  the  eggs 
were  still  intact,  and  a  few  were  hatching  in  slow  reptilian 
silence  in  the  moment  that  the  limb  had  struck  the  ground. 
In  the  slime  upon  the  eggs,  the  thin  dark  baby  snakes  lay 
like  dead  nerves. 

Snakes  are  not  common  in  the  valley,  owing  perhaps  to 
the  numbers  of  foraging  pigs.  A  small  bronze-colored  skink 
is  plentiful,  as  are  tree  frogs  and  a  large  tree  lizard,  but  there 
are  no  salamanders,  toads,  or  turtles.  No  reptile  or  amphibian 
is  used  for  any  purpose  by  the  akuni,  though  many  insects 
and  any  sort  of  bird  or  mammal,  including  rats  and  cormo- 
rants, are  eaten  cheerfully. 

The  yegerek  are  afraid  of  snakes  and  left  the  broken 
egg  mass  where  it  lay.  The  insect  bat  is  smaller  than  a  mouse, 
but  it  is  good  to  eat,  and  they  wrapped  it  neatly  in  a  leaf  and 
took  it  with  them. 

Running  home  by  way  of  Homuak,  Tukum  stubbed  his 
78  a 


toe  upon  a  root.  Tukum  is  at  odds  with  Ms  own  reflexes  and 
is  constantly  stubbing  his  toe  or  stepping  on  bees;  when  he 
shows  someone  something  he  has  found,  he  is  apt  to  open 
the  wrong  hand  in  his  excitement,  permitting  the  escape  of 
a  huge  cicada,  or  a  beautiful  hesperid  moth  with  a  scarlet 
silken  head,  or  one  of  the  lovely  tropic  butterflies  with  bright 
metallic  wings,  or  some  other,  earlier  prize  he  had  forgotten 
that  he  had. 

Discomfited,  Tukum  growls  in  his  deep  voice,  talking 
fiercely  in  a  series  of  sharp  breaths,  his  large  eyes  flashing. 
He  lives  in  a  state  of  perpetual  astonishment,  and  his  words 
come  in  gasps,  so  that,  when  excited,  he  sounds  like  a  small 
bellows. 

Mel  .  .  .  mel  .  .  .  mel9  he  stammers.  Mel  is  an  inter- 
jection, uttered  as  a  stopgap  while  the  correct  answer  to  a 
question  is  being  considered.  Tukum  rarely  arrives  at  the 
right  answer,  and  at  the  end  of  a  long  series  of  mels,  he  usu- 
ally says  his  favorite  word,  welegat.  Welegat  means  "any 
old  thing/'  or  "just  for  the  hell  of  it,"  or  "how  should  I 
know?" 

When  his  injured  toe  permitted  him  to  walk,  Tukum 
marched  straight  out  to  the  fields  and  plucked  a  long  blade 
of  grass;  bringing  it  back  to  the  offending  root,  he  tied  it 
there  in  a  sort  of  forlorn  bow,  to  indicate  to  other  passers-by 
that  a  dangerous  root  existed. 


•  Some  time  ago  the  men  of  Arnolds  village  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  Elokera  accused  U-mue  of  having  stolen 
and  eaten  a  pig.  Though  pig-stealing  is  a  time-honored  prac- 

B    79 


tice  among  the  akuni  and  is  not  considered  shameful,  one 
must  make  compensation  i£  one  is  caught.  U-mue  protested 
that  he  had  not  taken  the  pig,  but  he  was  not  believed,  and, 
as  he  has  a  strong  dislike  for  violence,  he  relinquished  an 
animal  of  his  own. 

In  recent  days  U-mue  has  decided  that  the  theft  had 
been  committed  by  the  Wittaia,  and  early  one  morning  he 
set  off,  accompanied  by  Yeke  Asuk  and  Hanumoak,  to  re- 
quest the  return  of  his  pig.  His  request  was  refused.  In  the 
next  hours,  however,  a  pig  was  removed  from  the  environs 
of  the  village,  and  the  identity  of  the  thief  was  common 
knowledge,  as  it  often  is,  within  hours.  The  thief  was  Yeke 
Asuk,  assisted,  in  all  likelihood,  by  his  friend  Hanumoak. 

A  raid  on  the  Wittaia  took  place  on  the  following  day, 
in  revenge  for  the  death  of  Ekitamalek.  Warriors  from  Wu- 
perainma  went  along,  but  as  Amoli's  men  went  also,  Yeke 
Asuk  and  Hanumoak  remained  at  home. 


80     • 


•  When  the  sun  was  high,  a  party  of  men  under  the 
leadership  of  Nilik,  kain  of  the  Walilo,  went  west  quickly 
and  quietly  to  the  albizzia  forest  in  the  country  of  the  Kosi- 
Alua.  From  there  they  moved  toward  the  north  side  of  the 
Waraba,  slipping  through  low  woodland.  From  the  wood 
they  crept  down  along  the  banks  of  a  small  stream  which 
flows  between  the  Waraba  and  the  Siobara.  They  were 
nearly  a  hundred,  including  Husuk  and  his  men  and  a  band 
of  Wilil  under  the  leadership  of  Tegearek.  Siba  was  there, 
and  Tuesike,  reserved  and  quiet,  and  Aloro,  the  lame  man. 
Sometimes  their  women  weep  when  the  raiders  go,  for 
the  raid  is  very  dangerous,  and  on  hearing  the  women,  the 
men  may  sing  this  song: 

See,  we  will  set  an  ambush  in  the  gardens  of  the  Wittaia, 

But  we  are  afraid, 

For  if  caught,  we  shall  be  killed. 

The  raiders  slipped  through  the  brush  and  sedge  grass, 
crossing  the  deep  sloughs  of  the  April  rains  in  water  to  their 
chests.  A  Wittaia  lookout  outlined  on  the  crest  of  the  Siobara 
failed  to  see  them,  for  they  kept  close  to  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  and  they  were  hidden  as  well  from  the  sentries  on  the 
grassy  ridge  off  to  the  southward. 

It  was  a  quiet  morning,  overcast.  The  Kurelu  women 
worked  stolidly  in  the  fields,  and  sentries  climbed  into  the 
kaios.  In  the  woods  of  Homuak  a  dove  called  dolefully.  Dull 
light  reflected  from  the  smoke  of  fires,  from  the  leaden  water 
of  the  ditches,  from  the  banks  of  white  quartz  sand  on  the 
hills  of  the  Wittaia.  On  the  savanna  between  the  gardens 
and  Homuak  the  yegerek  fought  noisily  with  spears  of  grass, 

•     81 


but  the  men  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Two  egrets  which 
frequent  the  Place  of  Fear  sat  still  as  white  flowers  in  the 
distance,  just  west  of  a  tall  bush  which,  in  the  few  days  past, 
had  burst  into  orange  flame. 

In  the  early  afternoon  the  Kurelu  crossed  the  frontier 
of  the  Wittaia.  The  main  party  had  been  left  in  hiding  in 
the  wood  by  the  Waraba,  while  thirty  or  more  young  war- 
riors led  by  Tegearek  crept  forward.  They  were  stalking  a 
kaio  and  the  surrounding  fields  of  a  village  south  of  the 
Siobara. 

There  was  a  sentry  in  the  kaio  tower;  he  did  not  see  the 
attackers  until  they  were  at  the  field  edge.  There  were  no 
warriors  in  the  shelter,  and  but  a  solitary  man,  named  Huwai, 
working  in  the  gardens.  The  man  on  the  kaio  scrambled 
down  and  fled,  shouting  the  alarm.  Huwai  was  not  fast 
enough.  The  war  party  surged  out  of  the  brush  and  rushed 
upon  him;  he  was  run  down  and  speared  to  death  by  the 
wild-faced,  shaggy-haired  son  of  the  war  kain  Wereklowe. 

The  raiding  party  returned  quickly  through  the  woods 
and  climbed  onto  the  rocks  of  the  Waraba.  There  they  were 
joined  by  the  others,  and  the  rest  of  the  Kurelu  came  for- 
ward from  the  kaios,  prepared  for  war. 

The  Wittaia  came  quickly,  shouting  out  their  rage,  and 
challenged  the  Kurelu  to  a  battle  on  a  grassy  meadow  just 
below  the  Waraba  and  to  the  south  of  it.  Though  badly  out- 
numbered, this  advance  party  of  the  Wittaia  fought  with 
ferocity  and  drove  the  Kurelu  back  among  the  rocks;  a  man 
of  the  Kosi-Alua  was  speared  through  the  calf,  and  Tuesike 
of  Wuperainma  caught  an  arrow  in  the  stomach,  just  one 
inch  to  the  right  side  of  his  navel.  The  Wittaia  moved  into 
the  rocks  of  the  Siobara,  awaiting  reinforcements,  while  the 
Kurelu  perched  on  the  gray  boulders  which  lie  tumbled  along 
the  crest  of  the  Waraba.  The  spears  of  both  sides  wavered 
on  the  sky  like  spines, 
a*  e 


Tuesike  was  carried  back  on  the  powerful  shoulders  of 
Siba  and  put  down  in  the  shelter  of  some  bushes  on  the  north 
flank  of  the  ridge.  He  was  in  terrible  pain  and  in  a  little  while 
passed  into  a  state  of  shock.  Siba  supported  him  from  behind, 
grasping  his  hair  to  hold  his  head  upright.  Tuesike's  horim 
was  gone,  and  his  blood  ran  down  his  stomach  onto  the  grass. 
The  wound  was  not  bleeding  badly,  for  the  arrow  shaft  had 
broken  off  inside,  and  the  point  was  in  too  far  to  be  with- 
drawn on  the  field.  Tuesike  panted  tightly,  harshly,  as  his 
brown  face,  draining,  turned  to  gray.  He  was  half  conscious, 
and  the  others  stared  at  him  like  awed  children  who  have 
hurt  one  of  their  friends  by  accident.  Tuesike,  whose  name 
means  "Bird  Bow,"  closed  his  eyes. 

The  Wittaia  continued  to  gather  on  the  Siobara  and  in 
an  open  area  between  the  Waraba  and  the  kaio  near  which 
Huwai  had  been  killed.  There  a  grass  fire  had  been  lit  to 
burn  away  his  blood.  Wereklowe  and  other  kains  sat  on  the 
highest  rock,  observing,  and  now  the  Wittaia  called  out  to 
the  Kurelu  across  the  way,  confirming  that  Huwai  had  died. 
At  this  the  Kurelu  raised  a  shout,  rushing  forward  to  mass  in 
a  large  body  at  the  west  end  of  the  ridge.  Some  went  farther, 
down  onto  the  middle  ground,  and  danced  and  shouted  in- 
sults at  the  enemy.  The  Kurelu  wanted  war,  but,  strangely, 
the  Wittaia  now  refused  it.  They  sat  in  dead  silence  on  the 
rocks  and  would  not  take  up  the  challenge.  Opposite,  on  the 
knolls  and  boulders  of  the  Waraba,  the  Kurelu  awaited  them. 

The  Waraba,  shaped  in  an  L,  is  a  rock  garden  of  strewn 
boulders,  set  about  with  ferns  and  orchids  and  shining  islets 
of  wild  sugar  cane.  Old  gardens  dance  in  the  wild  flower- 
ing below  its  flanks,  for  in  the  corner  of  the  L,  in  years  of 
peace,  had  been  a  village;  banana  fronds  gleam  in  the  low 
forest,  a  sparkling  varnished  gleam  which  turns  to  silver  in 
the  western  light. 

The  horizon  beyond  is  a  dark  mid-mountain  landscape, 

a   33 


dark  with  cloud  shadows,  distant  thunderheads,  dense  tropic 
greens  of  montane  forest,  high  black  walls.  But  the  darkness 
is  muted  by  the  soft  colors  of  the  gardens,  by  the  green 
velvet  of  low  marshy  swales.  The  gold  grass  of  the  old  fields 
draws  the  light,  and  rays  of  white  break  the  green  weight 
of  the  distances — a  sprinkling  of  vivid  whites,  like  snow 
patches.  In  the  dawn  of  certain  days  true  snow  is  visible,  a 
scraggy  outcropping  near  the  peak  of  AroHk  at  fifteen  thou- 
sand feet;  for  a  few  moments,  on  these  days,  the  peak  casts 
back  the  clouds.  Soft  white  smoke  rolls  from  the  garden  fires, 
soft  as  the  mists  on  the  horizons  of  far  rains.  And  there  are 
the  blaze  of  sands  on  the  flanks  of  Siobara,  the  alabaster 
statues  of  egrets,  the  shower  of  rhododendron.  .  .  . 

The  Wittaia  rose  out  of  their  silence,  filed  away. 

At  this  the  shouting  was  renewed,  more  strongly  than 
before.  The  wild  dancing  of  etai  began,  a  whirling  and  pranc- 
ing in  which  the  men  leapt  high  in  the  air  or  in  a  circle,  driv- 
ing both  heels  against  the  ground,  or  performed  an  odd 
taunting  shuffle  in  which  the  feet  are  still,  the  knees  pushed 
in  and  out,  the  hips  and  shoulders  cocked  in  turn,  and  the 
arms  darted  snakily  forward;  the  effect  is  one  of  lewd,  jeer- 
ing enticement,  though  it  is  a  joyful  dance,  performed  out  of 
the  wild  high  spirits  brought  about  by  a  death  among  the 
enemy  and  the  knowledge  that  no  further  risk  will  come 
that  day. 

Only  the  Aloros  and  a  few  others  enjoy  the  risk,  though 
all  enjoy  the  war.  At  the  first  shout  Aloro,  alone  among  the 
warriors  around  Tuesike,  had  seized  his  bow  and  hobbled 
desperately  toward  a  battle  not  destined  to  take  place. 

In  a  forest  of  spears  the  Kurelu  were  streaming  back 
along  the  ridge,  their  stamping  thunderous,  their  voices  soar- 
ing. O-o-A-HrA-y-y— WU!  O-o-A-i-i-O-o—WAH!  Other 
voices,  in  simultaneous  high  counterpoint,  howled,  WUA, 
W17A,  WUA!  The  egret  wands  and  whisks  of  cassowary 

84     • 


twirled  like  bright  maddened  insects,  and  the  white  of 
plumes  and  shells  and  boars'  tusks  flashed  in  the  surging 
brown.  At  the  edges  of  the  tide  ran  yegerek,  setting  fire  with 
thatch  torches  to  the  grass  tops.  Here  and  there  bobbed  a 
spot  of  brilliant  red — the  feathers  of  a  parakeet,  or  a  crown 
of  the  red  ginger  flower.  These  colors  spun,  and  the  weath- 
ered grays  and  greens  of  the  ancient  land  lay  still. 

There  came  a  shout,  and  Weaklekek  with  two  of  his 
men  ran  from  the  Waraba.  They  crossed  the  swamp  and 
plunged  through  the  reeds  on  the  far  side  of  the  Tokolik, 
sprinting  across  the  field  toward  Puakaloba.  Once  again  the 
Wittaia  had  set  fire  to  the  shelter,  which  was  burning  fast. 
Apparently  the  enemy  had  been  scared  off,  for  the  kaio  itself 
still  stood. 

The  warriors  stopped  to  dance  again.  Some  of  them 
charged  in  a  great  circle,  while  others  swayed  and  shimmied, 
way-o-way-y — YO,  lay-o-lay-y — AH!  to  an  answering  din  of 
hootings  and  wild  high  shrieks.  In  the  middle  of  one  group 
U-mue,  resplendent  in  his  clean  bright  ornaments  of  white, 
stood  looking  off  into  the  distance,  leaning  on  his  spear,  for 
he  keeps  his  own  counsel  even  in  time  of  celebration. 

A  few  women  had  collected  from  the  fields,  and  these 
had  begun  their  own  slow  sensual  dropping  of  alternate 
knees,  a  swaying  of  the  shoulders,  while  their  arms  shivered 
in  and  out,  palms  upward.  One  tall  woman  danced  alone, 
far  out  in  front  of  the  rest,  wearing  a  mikak  shell  above  her 
breasts;  in  her  splendor,  she  dominated  a  grassy  hillside  be- 
tween the  men  and  the  women.  This  was  the  wife  of  Werek- 
lowe's  son,  who  had  killed  Huwai.  Wereklowe  came  and 
danced  beside  her,  but  in  a  little  while  he  went  away  again, 
and  she  swayed  on,  as  if  rooted  to  the  landscape. 

Soon  the  warriors  ran  down  the  slope,  passing  the  bushes 
where  Tuesike  sat  upon  the  ground  and  moving  into  the 
swamp  of  brush  and  sedge  grass  which  separates  the  Waraba 

•  as 


from  the  Tokolik  At  the  Tokolik  they  assembled  to  dance 
again,  before  moving  on  to  the  etai  field  called  Liberek. 

Tuesike  was  lifted  painfully  onto  a  stretcher.  Siba  and 
Asok-meke  and  Tegearek — the  men  of  his  pilai — were  helped 
by  a  few  elege  like  Siloba  and  Yonokma.  Siloba  winced  him- 
self, for,  in  the  curing  of  an  arrow  wound  which  he  carried 
at  his  left  collarbone,  his  stomach  had  been  lanced  in  sev- 
eral places  and  blood  drawn;  while  the  arrow  wound  had 
healed  itself,  the  places  of  his  cure  had  become  infected  and 
still  hurt  him. 

Together  the  men  hoisted  the  stretcher  and  entered  the 
low  ground.  Tuesike  was  unconscious,  and  his  body  and  face 
had  been  covered  with  green  straw.  The  procession  wound 
slowly  through  the  black  water  of  the  swamp  and,  crossing 
the  Tokolik,  entered  the  home  territory.  It  disappeared  once 
more  into  the  heavy  swale  of  reeds  and  in  a  little  while 
emerged,  near  the  kaio  which  guards  the  outermost  of  the 
fields.  Already,  at  the  Liberek,  dancing  had  started,  and  the 
chants  of  triumph  did  not  cease  at  dark  but  rose  and  fell 
throughout  the  evening,  from  all  the  villages  below  the 
mountain. 


•  The  next  morning  U-mue's  men  adjusted  their 
appearance.  This  was  a  slow  and  careful  process,  Yeke  Asuk 
and  Hanumoak,  both  single  men,  took  the  most  pains,  not 
only  because  both  were  vain  but  because  the  etai  was  tradi- 
tionally an  occasion  for  showing  off  one's  beauty  to  the 
women  and  thus  kying  the  groundwork  for  liaisons  or  wif e- 


36   m 


stealing.  The  women  would  dress  too,  to  the  best  of  their 
ability,  especially  those  discontented  wives  amenable  to  the 
idea  of  being  stolen. 

Yeke  Asuk,  though  still  quite  young,  had  already  had 
three  wives  and  was  not  in  haste  to  find  another.  The  first 
three  had  left  him,  less  because  they  did  not  like  him  than 
because  he  had  paid  no  attention  to  them,  pursuing  the 
single  life  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  Hanumoak,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  never  had  sufficient  property  to  obtain  a  wife;  he 
had  lived  in  U-mue's  pilai  ever  since  a  quarrel  with  his 
brother.  But  he  did  own  a  fine  headdress  of  bird  of  paradise, 
the  black  plumes  of  which  rose  three  feet  from  the  fiber  head- 
band of  pandanus.  He  arranged  the  plumes  upon  his  mass 
of  hair,  very  careful  that  a  certain  amount  of  hair  should 
show  beneath  them.  He  then  smeared  his  face  and  shoulders 
with  a  gray  wad  of  fresh  pig  grease  and  singed  in  the  fire 
some  straw  from  the  pilai  floor;  the  ash  of  this  he  rubbed 
into  the  grease,  using  his  thumb.  In  this  way  he  blackened 
his  forehead,  which  was  naturally  blackish-brown,  and  drew 
a  clean  black  line  about  an  inch  in  breadth  across  his  cheek- 
bones and  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  Hanumoak  is  handsome, 
but  his  face  is  rather  soft,  and  the  hard  black  band,  making 
his  eyes  more  fierce,  became  him. 

Yeke  Asuk  is  not  handsome,  and  the  hair  on  top  of  his 
huge  brow  is  nondescript.  Of  late  he  has  worn  a  spray  of 
cassowary  plumes,  but  this  has  not  pleased  him,  and  today 
he  replaced  it  with  seven  white  egret  feathers.  Like  Hanu- 
moak, he  greased  his  face  and  drew  a  black  line  across  his 
cheekbones,  but  his  forehead,  beneath  which  his  pug  face 
is  squashed,  he  treated  with  special  attention.  He  took  a 
dried  piece  of  red  clay  and  rubbed  it  on  a  stone;  the  dust 
he  moistened  with  water,  producing  the  dye  he  needed.  His 
red  eyes,  when  at  last  they  passed  inspection,  gave  him  a 
remarkable  look  of  choler.  Both  Hanumoak  and  Yeke  Asuk 

•     $7 


put  on  their  snail-shell  bibs,  and  Yeke  Asuk  also  put  a  boar's 
tusk  in  his  hair.  To  his  rattan  stomach  hoops,  behind,  he 
fastened  a  long  green  leaf  of  spiderwort  which  lay  on  the 
cleft  of  his  buttocks  and,  thus  adorned,  he  scrambled  on  all 
fours  out  of  the  pilai. 

With  other  warriors,  Yeke  Asuk  and  Hanumoak  went 
with  their  spears  to  a  hillside  above  Abukumo  to  stage  a  pre- 
liminary celebration:  the  location  was  chosen  to  provide  any 
Wittaia  not  at  Huwafs  funeral  with  a  clear  view  of  the  cele- 
bration of  his  death.  From  this  point,  early  in  the  afternoon, 
the  warriors  would  move  on  to  the  Liberek. 

At  the  Liberek,  during  the  morning,  a  few  young  boys 
and  women  had  collected.  Husuk  and  his  men,  passing 
through  from  the  villages  of  the  Kosi-Alua,  went  on  to  a 
frontier  kaio,  where  they  staged  a  small  dance  comparable 
to  that  being  held  above  Abukumo.  The  sun  boiled  a  damp 
close  air,  and  a  large  black  harrier  with  gray  tail  feathers 
quartered  low  and  lazily  above  the  bushes. 

The  sun  had  already  reached  its  crest  when  a  large 
company  of  women  came,  led  by  the  tall  young  wife  of 
Wereklowe's  son.  She  is  a  handsome  girl  with  a  strange  ab- 
stracted gaze,  and  for  the  etai  she  had  dressed  herself  like  a 
young  warrior.  In  addition  to  the  mikak  she  had  worn  the 
day  before,  dancing  alone  in  the  twilight  of  the  Waraba,  she 
had  red  and  bkck  plumes  of  birds  of  paradise.  Snail  shells 
in  separate  strings  rather  than  the  close  bib  favored  by  the 
men  swayed  gracefully  between  her  breasts  as  she  began  to 
dance.  In  a  small  circle  on  the  grass  of  the  etai  meadow  she 
moved  slowly,  as  if  feeling  for  her  rhythm,  and  as  she  did  so 
she  began  to  call,  We-Re~A  Re— WAY!  We-Re-A-Re—WAH! 
Another  woman  answered  with  the  high,  pure  hoot  of  chorus, 
and  the  rest  joined  them,  moving  forward.  Most  of  the 
women  had  confined  their  decoration  to  a  thick  coat  of  yel- 
low ocher  or  gray  clay,  but  a  few  had  feather  crowns  or 
88  m 


shell  bibs  or  inferior  small  mikaks.  From  the  masks  of  clay 
their  dark  eyes  glared,  depthless  and  spectral.  Led  by  the 
girl,  they  moved  back  and  forth  in  a  massed  body,  wheeling 
sharply  at  the  end  of  each  phrase,  We-Re~A-Re — WAY!  We- 
Re-A-Re — WAH!  the  turn  being  made  on  the  WAY  or  the 
WAH.  Periodically  they  would  screech,  breaking  into  a 
heavy  run,  breasts  flying,  faster  and  faster  and  faster  in  a 
tight,  driven  circle,  like  creatures  fleeing  pain.  Small  girls  in 
their  reed  skirts  pattered  hopelessly  along  on  the  fringe  of 
the  bodies,  until  exhaustion  spun  them  away  from  their 
mothers;  they  sank  in  little  heaps  into  the  grass. 

Then  the  women  would  stop,  getting  their  breath  and 
laughing,  until  one  of  their  number,  softly  and  slowly  at  first, 
would  renew  the  chant  and  begin  to  sway,  moving  her  arms 
languorously  in  and  out.  The  others  would  take  it  up,  and 
the  dance  would  be  repeated,  up  the  field  and  down,  around 
and  around,  the  nets  sailing  on  the  turns  to  bare  hard 
buttocks  pinched  tight  by  the  coil  skirts.  At  the  side  of  the 
field  the  oldest  women  swayed  in  accompaniment,  their 
mantis  arms  outstretched,  their  long  feet  twitching.  U-mue's 
old  mother,  Aneake,  was  one  of  these,  calling  out  fiercely. 

At  the  west  end  of  the  meadow  the  boys  and  old  men 
sat  in  the  shelter.  Some  of  the  men  performed  on  each  other's 
faces  the  plucking  of  hairs  from  the  upper  lip  and  the  neat- 
ening  of  beards,  using  the  pitch  of  the  araucaria  and  arau- 
caria-twig  tweezers;  while  almost  all  men  wear  short  beards, 
the  mustache  is  considered  very  ugly.  The  legs  were  also 
cleaned  of  hairs,  and  the  hips  and  pubis,  until  the  dark  skin 
gleamed.  One  old  man  appeared  from  the  bushes  with  the 
lost  smile  of  uncertain  eyesight:  he  was  greeted  with  affec- 
tion, and  a  young  warrior  barbered  him.  Other  warriors  had 
gathered,  and  now  the  Kosi-Alua  at  the  kaio  in  the  distance 
were  mustering  for  their  entry  upon  the  Liberek. 

The  women  danced  on,  for  this  was  the  last  hour  that 

•     89 


they  would  have  the  meadow  to  themselves.  Two  carried 
infants  on  their  shoulders,  and  the  head  of  one  of  these  was 
submerged  in  a  man's  white  egret  crown;  with  his  mother, 
from  behind,  he  formed  a  giant,  rushed  along  by  the  lesser 
creatures  underneath. 

We-a-AY          O-o-Aia-OH 

The  men  came  in  midaftemoon,  arriving  from  two  di- 
rections simultaneously.  They  massed  at  the  end  of  the  field, 
then  charged  across  it,  spears  held  high  against  the  clouds 
and  long  plumes  tossing.  Immediately  they  turned  and  thun- 
dered back  again,  AY-A-Wo-AI,  then  broke  to  form  a  roar- 
ing circle.  Some  women  rushed  in  from  the  side  to  mingle 
with  the  fringes  of  the  men;  as  the  speed  increased,  they  ran 
more  like  men  than  women,  the  sulphurous  colors  of  their 
bodies  blotting  out  without  obscuring  the  female  breasts  and 
hips.  Ay-HOO,  ay-HOO,  the  women  wailed,  their  voices  re- 
mote in  the  men's  tumult.  Just  as  their  grief  was  deeper  at 
the  funerals,  their  joy  was  fiercer  in  etai,  as  if  all  of  their 
emotions,  accumulating  in  their  long  brown  days,  must  find 
release  in  this  abandon. 

As  the  father  of  the  man  revenged,  Yoroick  was  the 
guest  of  honor.  He  wore  no  decoration  but  the  yellow  clay, 
which  was  daubed  thickly  on  his  head  and  shoulders.  Even 
his  hair  was  yellow-white,  patriarchal,  and,  with  his  great 
height  among  the  men,  he  looked  like  some  mad  hermit, 
naked  and  glaring  in  the  wilderness.  He  crouched  down  at 
a  small  fire  near  the  shelter,  mourning  his  son  among  the 
older  men;  the  soft,  wailing  wind  they  made  rose  with 
strange  force  against  the  storm  of  victory.  The  old  men, 
bony-spined,  sat  with  bent  heads  over  a  clear  flame  invisible 
in  the  sunlight 

Yoroick  rose  suddenly  with  a  hoarse  shout.  Seizing  his 
spear,  he  bolted  down  the  field  through  the  startled  dancers. 
90  m 


The  dancing  stopped,  and  a  deep  moan  arose.  The  men  of 
the  Kosi-Alua  took  up  their  spears  and  followed. 

The  cause  of  the  outcry  was  the  soft-walking  U-niue. 
Approaching  the  Liberek  from  the  field  above  Homaklep, 
U-niue  had  come  upon  one  of  the  men  who  had  seized  his 
youngest  wife  not  long  before.  U-mue  was  accompanied  by 
four  of  his  best  warriors  and  perceived  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity to  avenge  the  outrage.  A  melee  started  up  just  be- 
yond the  etai  field,  but,  before  anyone  was  hurt,  Yoroick  got 
wind  of  it  and  ran  forward. 

Yoroick  is  ordinarily  a  peaceable  man,  so  peaceable  that 
his  reticence  in  time  of  war  is  a  matter  of  common  knowl- 
edge, but  on  this  day  he  was  the  important  person,  full  of 
noise  and  fire.  Already  in  an  excited  state  of  mind,  he  was 
greatly  offended  that  U-mue  should  have  caused  a  distrac- 
tion on  this  epochal  occasion.  Yoroick  was  anxious  to  kill 
U-mue,  but  he  was  prevented  from  doing  so,  not  only  by 
the  people  who  caught  up  with  him  but  by  U-mue  himself, 
who  took  his  leave.  The  men  calmed  Yoroick  and  escorted 
him  back  to  the  etai. 

The  Wuperainma  warriors  trailed  behind,  but  they  were 
uneasy  and  remained  on  the  outskirts  of  the  celebration. 
Yeke  Asuk,  particularly,  moved  up  and  down  with  uncus- 
tomary diffidence,  Tegearek  and  two  others  at  his  side. 

Over  five  hundred  people  were  present,  all  of  them 
dressed  to  the  best  of  their  resources.  Tukum  the  swineherd 
wore  a  thin,  battered  mikak  and  some  shell  strings;  he 
bounced  the  shell  strings  on  a  round  belly  taut  with  sweet 
potato,  producing  a  hollow  sound  which  made  him  laugh. 
Some  other  boys  carried  their  bows  and  arrows;  they  had 
drawn  white  patterns  on  their  bodies.  Five  yegerek  wore 
crowns  of  blossoms  from  the  yellow  rhododendron. 

Wereklowe's  son,  who  had  run  down  the  Wittaia  and 
killed  him  with  his  spear,  caused  a  quiet  stir  of  greeting  and 

•    91 


respect  as  he  moved  about;  in  his  hair  were  silver  streaks  of 
clay,  A  man  with  a  headdress  of  red  ginger  flowers  sat  beside 
another  with  red  feathers,  in  a  pair,  jutting  out  from  his 
temples  like  low  horns.  Limo  wore  the  long  barred  feathers 
of  a  large  hawk;  he  sat  in  silence,  watching,  his  handsome 
face,  like  that  of  Kurelu,  gentle  and  merciless  by  turns. 
Nilik  swayed,  facing  the  dancers;  he  had  armlets  of  thick 
fur  of  a  rich  brown  luster,  and  a  red  and  black  wig  of  tiny 
seeds  strung  in  cordy  strands  like  hard,  long  hair.  Nilik,  as 
the  political  leader  of  the  successful  raid,  was  anxious  to  as- 
sert himself  and  did  so. 

Rain  drifted  from  the  mountains  in  the  wake  of  a  soft 
sun  of  twilight.  Some  older  people  moved  onto  the  savanna 
paths  toward  home,  but  the  dancers  surged  and  chanted 
back  and  forth,  undiminished.  To  one  side  of  the  central 
bodies  a  girl  dyed  red  pranced  back  and  forth  with  a  girl  of 
dead  gray  color;  on  the  far  side  the  tall  wife  of  Wereklowe's 
son,  with  two  men  and  another  woman,  formed  a  line  apart, 
moving  ceaselessly  up  and  down  the  field  with  loose-limbed 
fervor.  She  had  danced  all  afternoon,  in  a  kind  of  trance,  and 
was  still  dancing  when  Yoroick,  perhaps  fearing  that  he  had 
lost  his  world's  attention,  cried  out  again:  he  wished  that 
the  men  of  the  Kosi-Alua  fall  upon  U-mue's  men  and  kill 
them.  Hanumoak,  though  he  is  Yoroick's  youngest  brother, 
moved  out  toward  the  brush  uneasily,  joining  his  friends. 
But  the  men  of  the  Kosi-Alua  were  not  prepared  to  act  on 
Yoroick's  wish,  and  the  shouting  died. 

Aloro  stood  alone  and  watched  the  dancers.  He  stood 
on  his  good  right  leg,  still  as  a  heron,  supporting  his  left  side 
with  his  spear.  He  too  wore  the  barred  feathers  of  a  hawk, 
and  he  had  painted  white  circles  around  his  eyes.  He  seemed 
to  avoid  the  looks  of  others,  as  if  ashamed  that  he  could  not 
dance. 

Aloro's  eyes  slant  back  into  his  forehead,  and  his  mouth 
92  m 


hangs  open  in  a  way  less  slack  than  wolfish;  without  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  dancers,  he  turned  his  head  slowly,  as  a 
predator  will,  to  pick  up  sounds  from  behind  and  from  the 
sides.  The  white  eyes  and  the  toothed  grin  which  is  not  a 
grin  gave  him  an  air  of  madness. 


H  The  day  after  the  etai  Tuesike  was  brought  down 
from  the  sleeping  loft  of  his  pilai.  The  pilai  belongs  to  Asok- 
meke  and  is  inhabited  also  by  Siba,  Tegearek,  and  Tekman 
Bio,  as  well  as  by  Asok-meke's  small  son,  Tukum,  Tuesike 
was  helped  to  a  sitting  position  against  one  of  the  frames  of 
the  pilai  fire,  and  rattan  was  strung  from  one  post  to  the  next 
to  support  his  head.  He  breathed  slowly  and  poorly,  and  it 
was  thought  that  he  would  die. 

Tukum  slipped  in  and  sat  down  next  to  him,  holding  a 
piece *of  hiperi.  Over  a  period  of  time  he  nibbled  at  it,  chew- 
ing slowly,  intermittently,  to  avoid  the  pain  of  swallowing. 
From  time  to  time  he  coughed,  a  taut,  dry  cough  that  caused 
him  to  turn  and  stare  at  the  other  men  in  surprise  and  pain. 

Tuesike's  eyes  looked  glazed,  and  he  did  not  respond  to 
the  friends  who  had  come  to  sit  with  him,  but  remained  with 
his  back  to  the  ashes  of  the  morning  fire,  staring  into  the 
dark  recesses  of  the  round  house. 

Asok-meke,  who  was  in  tears,  was  crying  for  Tuesike, 
but  he  also  cried  with  pleasure  because  a  friend  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  a  long  time  had  come  to  visit  him  from  the 
Siep-Kosi.  At  these  times,  crying  was  the  custom. 

Thunder  rolled  out  of  the  mountains  like  an  avalanche, 
and  the  rain  came  down.  An  old  man  wove  ceaselessly  at  the 

•    93 


cowrie  belt  used  in  funerals,  and  in  the  darkness  by  the  wall 
Aloro  drew  unearthly  sounds  from  his  cane  harp.  The  other 
men,  fourteen  in  all,  sat  smoking.  They  gazed  stolidly  out- 
ward at  the  mud  forming  in  the  sili  yard,  absorbed  by  the 
brown  certainties  of  their  own  Eves. 


A  few  days  later  Tuesike  was  much  improved,  and  in 
the  early  afternoon  he  sat  alone,  facing  the  doorway.  Though 
he  was  not  comfortable,  he  was  not  really  in  pain.  Blood  had 
been  let  from  two  cuts  in  his  stomach,  near  the  hole  made  by 
the  arrow,  and  the  long  red  point  of  the  arrow  itself  was 
there  above  his  head  for  any  visitors  to  admire,  on  the  rack 
over  the  fire  frame.  With  it  was  an  arrow  point  removed  pre- 
viously from  the  body  of  Tegearek. 

Tuesike  had  felt  much  better  since  the  capture  and 
cutting  of  a  field  mouse  and  a  rat.  The  cutting  was  done  by 
Aloro.  The  belly  skins  of  the  animals,  still  alive,  were  slit 
open  with  a  bamboo  knife:  if  the  stomach  wall  had  been 
pierced  and  entrails  spilled,  Tuesike's  own  wound  would 
have  been  mortal,  but  the  entrails  of  both  animals  had  re- 
mained intact,  as  his  own  must  therefore  be.  The  rat  cere- 
mony was  only  performed  when  death  was  close,  and  every- 
one had  been  much  reassured;  more  likely  than  not,  had  the 
hand  of  Aloro  been  less  steady,  Tuesike  would  have  given 
up  and  died.  At  the  moment  the  animals  hung  from  the  fire 
94  m 


rack  behind  him,  strung  up  by  the  throat.  The  teeth  of  the 
rat  were  bared  and  its  tail  hung  in  a  stiff  curl,  as  if  it  had 
tried  to  climb  or  gnaw  its  string. 

That  morning  Siba  had  made  a  fetish.  This  fetish  was 
a  piece  of  cane  three  or  four  feet  long  into  which  feathers 
had  been  inserted,  in  the  end  and  along  the  length.  Tuesike 
had  crept  outside,  and  the  cane,  with  a  bundle  of  lukaka 
grass,  was  waved  over  his  head.  Once  Tuesike  had  been 
treated,  it  was  planted  on  the  path  in  front  of  Wuperainma; 
the  grass  was  laid  at  its  foot,  wrapped  in  pavi  leaves.  Pavi  is 
a  word  which  also  means  both  enemy  and  excrement,  but 
the  choice  of  this  leaf  was  purely  fortuitous,  the  pavi  tree, 
in  this  spot,  being  the  closest  growth  at  hand.  The  grass 
bundle,  on  the  other  hand,  is  almost  invariably  used  in  any 
such  communication  with  the  ghosts. 

A  man  badly  wounded,  and  thus  troubled  in  body  and 
spirit,  is  especially  vulnerable  to  the  wiles  of  ghosts.  The 
fetish  was  placed  between  Tuesike  and  enemy  lands  to  show 
the  ghost  of  Huwai  that  the  Kurelu  were  aware  of  its  in- 
tentions and  had  taken  suitable  precautions;  the  grass  bun- 
dle, like  the  bundle  placed  around  the  base  of  a  new  kaio, 
was  there  to  indicate  that  a  close  watch  was  being  kept. 

Siba  was  confident  that  his  warning  would  keep  the 
ghost  away,  and  Tuesike  felt  much  better  for  it.  He  touched 
with  his  fingers  the  leaf  poultices  on  his  wounds  and  coughed 
a  little.  He  had  gotten  very  thin.  In  the  silence  of  the  after- 
noon he  listened  to  a  pig — the  sound  was  more  like  a  hollow 
thump  than  a  live  grunt — and  to  the  peaceful  droning  of 
the  flies,  the  flies  of  summer,  in  a  summer  which  would  never 
end. 


95 


•  In  a  war  of  the  yegerek  Uwar  was  struck  beneath 
the  right  eye  by  a  grass  spear;  this  accident  is  a  common  one 
and  accounts  for  the  large  incidence  of  boys  and  men  among 
the  Kurelu  who  are  blind  in  one  eye.  Uwar  barely  escaped 
blinding.  Though  he  was  badly  hurt  and  crying,  he  found 
the  shaft  of  reed  which  struck  him  and  took  it  to  U-mue's 
pilal  Unless  he  is  very  lucky,  he  will  do  this  again  some  other 
day,  in  the  wars  with  the  Wittaia.  The  arrow  will  be  of  hard, 
sharp  cane,  and,  more  likely  than  not,  it  will  be  carried  back 
for  him  by  another  warrior. 


•  in  the  village  of  Abukumo,  which  lies  on  a  low 
spur  of  the  mountain  between  HomaHep  and  the  Aike,  there 
is  a  sili  abandoned  after  an  argument  between  its  owners. 
The  small  garden  of  the  sili  is  sadly  overgrown  with  ama- 
ranth and  daisies,  and  the  huts,  weighted  down  by  rotted 
thatch,  sag  slowly  among  the  weeds. 

The  sili  was  owned  formerly  by  three  brothers.  The 
eldest,  Yoroick,  left  Abukumo  and  went  to  live  with  the 
Kosi-Alua,  outraged  by  the  seduction  of  one  of  his  wives  by 
the  second  brother,  Werene:  Yoroick's  name  means  "Pigeon," 
and  Werene's  name  means  "Parrot/*  and  Pigeon  had  previ- 
ously done  to  Parrot  what  Parrot  was  subsequently  to  do  to 
Pigeon.  Since  physical  retribution  is  usually  avoided  except 
96  m 


by  the  kains  and  the  violent  ones,  the  fitting  revenge  is 
thought  to  be  the  identical  offense. 

Before  long  Werene  left  the  sili  too.  He  moved  down 
the  slope  to  Homaklep,  taking  with  him  a  third  brother, 
Hanumoak,  at  that  time  no  more  than  a  child.  One  day,  a 
few  years  later,  Hanumoak  refused  Werene's  command  that 
he  go  out  to  work  in  the  gardens.  After  the  quarrel  which 
occurred,  Hanumoak  left  Werene's  sili  and  moved  to  the 
pilai  of  U-mue  in  Wuperainma. 

Another  old  sili  adjoining  the  abandoned  one  is  occu- 
pied by  a  kepu  man  and  his  sick  father,  and  a  third  is  being 
restored  by  Asikanalek:  Asikanalek,  a  solitary  man,  is  a  very 
brave  young  war  kain  of  the  clan  Alua  whose  name,  "No 
Sound  of  Bow"— literally,  Sike-Ane-Lek,  or  "Bow  Voice  Not" 
— refers  to  the  cessation  of  the  wars  with  the  Siep-Kosi.  Al- 
ready a  new  pilai  has  been  constructed,  where  his  old  father 
can  blink  away  his  days,  and  in  early  May,  Asikanalek  started 
work  on  a  new  cooking  shed.  Assisted  by  his  neighbor,  he 
turned  the  dogged  earth.  The  earth  was  hard-surfaced,  baked 
to  rust-colored  ceramic  by  old  fires,  and  with  his  digging 
stick  he  chunked  into  it,  foot  by  foot,  while  the  other  man 
spread  the  raw  hunks  of  cky  on  the  old  yard. 

When  the  foundation  of  the  new  shed  was  completed, 
two  hollow  trunks  of  the  pandanus  were  laid  parallel  as  sills. 
The  ends  of  the  structure  were  erected,  followed  by  the  front 
and  back.  Each  side  was  a  double  wall  of  oak  and  beech 
slats  pounded  and  worked  into  the  ground.  Cross  slats  were 
wedged  down  between  the  uprights,  knocked  tight  by  a 
heavy  wooden  knout,  and  the  whole  affair  was  lashed  with 
strong  rattan:  to  tighten  the  bindings,  Asikanalek  would 
place  one  foot  high  on  the  wall  and  haul  on  the  rattan  with 
his  whole  weight 

In  the  wall  at  each  end  a  central  post  had  been  installed, 


•    97 


and  a  ridgepole  was  laid  down  the  length  of  the  shed.  The 
slat  roof  was  laid  against  the  ridgepole,  forming  a  peak,  and 
the  slats  were  covered  with  a  loose  layer  of  cane  strips,  be- 
fore the  whole  was  thatched.  Air  spaces  had  been  left  at  the 
ends  of  the  shed,  between  the  wall  top  and  the  peak,  and 
the  structure  was  nowhere  tight,  in  order  that  the  smoke  of 
the  fires  could  readily  escape.  The  fires  were  placed  between 
each  of  three  posts  supporting  the  roof.  By  the  time  of  the 
new  moon  the  shed  would  be  in  use,  and  it  would  shortly 
acquire  the  interior  smell  of  all  the  buildings  in  the  valley. 

In  the  pilai,  sitting  before  the  fire,  Asikanalek's  old  fa- 
ther supported  his  rotted  frame  by  clinging  to  a  rattan  strung 
between  two  posts.  At  one  time  a  warrior  who  had  killed 
three,  he  had  now  reached  extreme  old  age  and  had 
shrunk  away  to  nothing.  His  skeleton,  casting  off  its  long 
disguise  of  flesh  and  blood,  asserted  itself  indecently,  and 
the  long  nails  grew  untended,  as  nails  grow  in  a  grave,  an 
inch  or  more  of  yellow  horn  scratching  fitfully  among  the 
few  leaves  of  Hsanika  scattered  between  his  feet.  His  skin, 
long  dead,  contrasted  with  the  gleam  of  the  cane  ceiling 
greased  black  by  the  fire  smoke.  It  was  encrusted  with 
hard  scabs,  as  if  his  pores  were  to  close  over,  one  by 
one.  His  eyes,  drained  of  all  depth  and  luster,  were  two  flat, 
rimless  wet  places  on  his  face. 

But  still  he  heard  and  saw  and  smiled,  and  he  could  stir. 
He  lifted  a  lisanika  leaf  toward  his  mouth,  for  his  hands  re- 
called tobacco;  the  lisanika  leaf  is  always  moistened  before 
the  tobacco  is  rolled  into  it  The  yellow  nails  scratched  dryly 
on  the  leaf,  a  mousy  sound,  as  his  gums  lost  it.  There  was  no 
moisture  in  his  mouth,  and  when  the  leaf  escaped  him  he 
forgot  about  it.  His  feet  were  cold,  and  very  slowly  he  lifted 
the  bone  club  of  his  right  heel  toward  the  flame. 

Asikanalek's  child  Namilike  came  in.  Though  girls  and 
women  are  forbidden  to  enter  the  pilai,  small  children  of 
98  m 


either  sex  are  at  times  tolerated,  and  Namilike  cannot  be 
more  than  four.  Like  aU  the  other  little  girls,  she  wears  a 
miniature  grass  skirt,  a  circlet  of  soft  reed  gathered  at  the 
water's  edge,  and  she  has  her  own  small  net.  Namilike  has 
large  eyes  and  large  eyebrows  and  a  smiling  mouth,  and  she 
is  the  prettiest  child  in  the  southern  Kurelu.  She  sat  next  to 
her  grandfather,  her  hand  with  its  missing  fingers  on  his 
dead  knee,  and  at  the  same  time  unaware  of  him,  as  if  he 
had  assumed  a  final  place  among  the  dull  brown  packets  of 
smoked  straw  and  withered  leaves  which  hung  like  bats  from 
the  dark  rafters. 


II  Woluklek  Is  a  wild-eyed  man  with  an  enchanted 
smile,  and  he  is  almost  always  by  himself,  Like  Apeore, 
Tuesike,  and  Asikanalek,  he  is  a  solitary.  But  while  Apeore 
and  Asikanalek  go  their  way  alone  because  they  like  it,  and 
Tuesike  seems  cut  off  from  others  out  of  shyness,  Woluklek 
is  alone  because  he  is  unique,  and  his  solitude,  though 
marked,  is  his  condition.  Unlike  the  others,  he  is  not  a  re- 
spected warrior,  but  neither  is  he  kepu,  in  the  sense  of  cow- 
ardice. In  war  Woluklek  is  very  often  at  the  fore,  but  his 
activity  is  distracted,  aimless,  as  if  he  had  wandered  across 
the  battle  lines  on  his  way  elsewhere  and  remained  within 
the  range  of  death  out  of  bemusement.  Yet  he  is  not  simple. 
It  is  as  if,  on  the  sunny  paths  of  childhood,  he  had  strayed 
out  of  his  world  into  a  dream  and  allowed  the  dream  to  waft 
him  where  it  would,  his  life  or  death  a  matter  of  indifference. 
So  now  he  moved  slowly  through  the  world  of  shadows 
and  hanging  shapes  which  is  the  montane  forest,  squatting 

a    99 


here  and  there  to  stare  and  pick,  and  passing  on;  he  had  no 
real  errand,  no  real  destination,  a  habitual  circumstance 
which,  by  itself,  had  isolated  him  from  others  long  before. 

Woluklek  wore  no  decoration  on  his  head  or  breast:  the 
whites  of  his  large  eyes  excepted,  he  was  dark  as  the  earth 
beneath  a  stone.  Behind,  however,  he  had  equipped  himself 
with  a  strange  fern,  suspended  from  his  horim  string.  The 
fern  was  bent  from  having  been  sat  upon  askew  and  stuck 
out  to  one  side  instead  of  hanging  in  the  graceful  way  he 
had  had  in  mind  before  forgetting  it  was  there. 

The  morning  sun  filtered  through  the  leaves  in  patches, 
alighting  on  red  fruits  of  the  pandanus.  Single  stems  of 
giant  bamboo  shot  toward  holes  of  light  or  curved  with 
languid  stiffness  back  to  earth,  only  to  bend  up  again,  to- 
ward the  tip,  like  the  head  of  a  hunting  snake.  Large  trunks 
of  beech  and  myrtle  loomed  in  the  mass  of  foliage,  to  vanish 
into  the  green  worlds  of  the  canopy.  Where  a  giant  tree  had 
fallen,  an  undergrowth  of  lesser  plants  fought  for  place  in 
the  new  sun — rattan  and  scrambling  fern  and  tall  stalks  of 
wild  ginger  with  its  scarlet  flower. 

Whistlers  and  honey  eaters  flicked  quickly  through  the 
wood,  their  voices  lost  in  the  rush  of  a  small  stream.  Wolu- 
Hek  squatted  once  again  to  eat  gilled  mushrooms.  Wolu- 
klek liked  to  squat  upon  his  heels  and  often  did  so  even 
when  the  other  men  were  standing,  as  if  this  angle  gave  him 
new  perspective. 

He  moved  onto  the  open  slopes  and  down  the  white 
sand  of  the  trickling  stream  bed,  toward  the  valley  floor. 
Along  this  path,  in  the  sand  beneath  an  overhanging  boulder, 
some  tribesman  waiting  out  a  rain  had  drawn  the  course  of 
the  Baliem  Eiver  with  sweeping  arabesques  of  his  foot. 
Woluklek  investigated  the  sand  drawing  with  pleasure  and 
then,  with  his  own  foot,  changed  the  course  of  the  Baliem. 

The  boulder  was  one  of  an  assembly  of  great  rocks: 
100  • 


close  by,  the  path  detoured  down  through  a  steep  cleft  be- 
tween two  others.  This  place  was  rarely  visited  by  the  peo- 
ple. It  was  a  dark,  dripping  niche  of  ferns  and  mosses,  with  a 
solitary  pandanus,  sprawling  and  twisted  in  a  welter  of  its 
own  leaves,  as  if  defeated  in  its  passage  toward  the  sun. 
Here,  on  a  narrow  ledge,  protected  from  the  water  drops  of 
yellowish  short  stalactites,  lay  remnant  bones  of  two  Wittaia. 

The  enemy  had  been  killed  years  before,  and  their 
bodies  left  to  rot:  eventually  the  bones  had  been  placed 
upon  this  ledge  so  that  the  earth  itself,  in  the  slow  fall  of 
leaves  and  petals  from  the  sun  above,  would  not  bury  them 
and  thus  lay  them  to  rest.  Woluklek  was  vague  about  the 
story,  though  it  was  claimed  that  the  enemy  had  not  been 
eaten.  The  akuni  did  not  eat  people,  but  they  knew  that  this 
was  done  quite  frequently  in  the  southern  valley.  Only  a  few 
months  before,  a  raiding  party  of  people  living  near  the  Aso- 
Lokopals  had  been  cut  off  and  wiped  out  by  the  Hisaro. 
There  were  more  than  twenty  killed,  and  all  of  these  men 
were  roasted  in  a  rock  fire  and  consumed.  The  bones  were 
placed  out  in  the  forest,  in  a  wisa  ground;  this  ground  was 
considered  very  dangerous  because  of  its  great  company  of 
vengeful  ghosts. 

Woluklek  skirted  by  the  place  of  bones  and  went  on 
down  the  hill  into  the  sunshine.  Passing  a  rhododendron,  he 
plucked  an  unopened  blossom.  He  bit  off  the  tip  and  hol- 
lowed it  and,  by  holding  it  pressed  to  his  lower  lip  and  blow- 
ing, was  able  to  produce  a  shrill,  thin  whistle. 


10? 


•  On  the  tower  of  his  kaio,  far  out  in  the  center  of 
the  fields,  Wereklowe  sat  perched  like  a  great  bird.  In  the 
shelter  below,  his  warriors  mended  arrows  and  wove  armlets. 
Wereklowe,  like  Kurelu  himself,  dressed  simply.  Unlike  the 
lesser  kains,  who  were  always  in  white  regalia,  Wereklowe 
was  content  with  the  flat  black  pig  intestines  at  his  throat 
and  an  armlet  the  color  of  pale  gold  braided  onto  his  left 
wrist. 

All  the  great  fields  to  the  north  of  the  kaio  belonged  to 
him,  and  the  women  who  worked  in  them,  and  even  the 
men,  and  the  kaio  itself — he  included  them  all  with  a  wave 
of  his  arm.  An-meke,  he  called  them,  Mine,  grasping  and 
shaking  his  horim.  And  Wereklowe  smiled  his  ecstatic  sav- 
age smile,  a  restless  smile,  constantly  working,  forcing  great 
creases  on  his  lean  cheeks,  a  smile  at  the  same  time  merry 
and  without  mercy. 

Wereklowe's  name  means  "He  Who  Never  Works  in 
Fields/'  It  was  given  originally  as  a  rebuke,  but  Wereklowe 
made  no  attempt  to  rid  himself  of  the  name.  He  has  killed 
ten  men,  and  the  time  is  long  since  past  when  work  in  the 
fields  would  be  expected  of  him:  he  is  the  leader  of  the  Alua, 
and  the  great  war  kain  of  the  tribe,  with  seven  wives,  a 
dozen  pigs,  and  eight  fine  children.  Only  Kurelu  himself, 
with  ten,  has  more  wives  than  Wereklowe. 

Probably  there  is  no  man  in  the  Kurelu  who  has  killed 
more  enemies  than  Wereklowe.  But  in  the  Hisaro  clans  to 
the  southward  there  is  a  kain  who  is  said  to  have  taken  more 
than  one  hundred  lives.  He  is  notorious  throughout  the  val- 
ley, even  among  tribes  like  the  Kurelu  which  have  no  con- 
tact with  his  own.  In  the  course  of  an  ordinary  lifetime  of 
102  • 


tribal  wars  and  raids  it  would  not  be  possible  to  kill  one 
hundred  people,  but  this  kain  is  not  an  ordinary  man.  A 
fanatic  warrior  in  battle,  he  prowls  as  well  on  solitary  raids 
into  the  countries  of  his  enemies,  killing  quietly  where 
chance  offers.  On  one  occasion  he  accosted  a  woman  on  a 
lonely  path:  the  woman,  assuming  the  stranger  was  bent  on 
rape,  ky  down  philosophically  to  receive  him.  His  spear  lay 
beside  them,  and,  instead  of  raping  her,  he  drove  the  spear 
inside  her.  Another  time  he  entered  a  sili  at  midday,  when 
only  old  women,  infants,  and  sick  people  would  be  about 
A  sick  boy  in  the  pilai  invited  him  to  rest  himself  in  the  loft 
above  until  the  men  might  return;  when  both  had  climbed 
into  the  darkness,  the  stranger  strangled  his  young  host  and 
took  his  leave. 

Despite  the  number  of  enemies  to  his  credit,  this  man's 
need  to  take  life  is  unfamiliar  to  the  Dani  and  makes  even 
his  own  people  uneasy.  The  criminality  of  his  acts  is  recog- 
nized; unlike  Wereklowe,  he  is  despised  as  well  as  feared. 

Besides  Wereklowe,  the  Alua  kains  include  Polik,  Weak- 
lekek,  Limo,  and  Asikanalek,  village  kain  of  Abukumo;  the 
clan  Alua,  with  its  sub-clan  the  Halluk,  is  the  strongest  in 
the  southern  Kurelu. 

After  Wereklowe,  the  most  powerful  of  these  kains  is 
Polik,  leader  of  the  Halluk.  Polik  is  a  tall  old  man  with 
straight  hair  in  stiff,  cordy  strings  down  to  his  shoulders; 
sometimes  he  wears  a  magnificent  fur  crown,  and  he  is  never 
without  an  enormous  broad-bladed  white  spear  eighteen 
feet  long. 

As  a  young  warrior  Polik  behaved  strangely  and  vio- 
lently and  is  said  to  have  killed  more  than  one  of  his  own 
people;  because  he  was  feared,  he  was  given  the  name  Mo- 
kat,  meaning  "Ghost."  To  this  day  he  is  commonly  referred 
to  by  this  name,  with  great  respect:  Mokat  kain  kok-meke! 
— Mokat  is  a  great  kain!  His  present  name,  which  stems  from 

a    103 


"He  Who  Came  Up  from  Behind,"  recalls  his  bravery  in  a 
battle  of  long  ago,  when  he  circled  back  and  saved  the  life 
of  a  man  cut  off  by  the  enemy.  Polik  is  never  far  from  the 
front  line,  and  his  fierce  shouts  of  encouragement  and  warn- 
ing are  a  part  of  every  war. 

Polik  is  proud  of  his  strong  voice,  which  dominates  not 
only  wars  but  funerals.  Above  all  else,  he  loves  to  sing.  When 
Polik  sings,  a  sleepy  smile  comes  to  his  face,  and  he  tosses 
his  great  head  from  side  to  side  in  his  slow  rhythm,  so  that 
his  heavy  hair  flops  on  his  shoulders.  He  sings  songs  of  war 
and  raids,  of  love  and  gardens,  but  sometimes  he  sings  little 
wordless  songs  of  sheer  contentment,  alone  on  a  high  rock 
on  the  sunny  hillside. 

Ye-we-o  Ya  wo-o-lo 

Ma-ya-um 
We  le-le-e          Ko-lo-lo 


•  One  night  in  late  May,  while  the  giant  frogmouth, 
red-eyed  and  yellow-mouthed,  called  sepulchrally  from  the 
starry  points  of  araucaria,  the  valley  shuddered  in  an  earth- 
quake; the  earthquake  lasted  only  a  few  moments,  two  brief 
spasms,  and  then  the  earth  was  still  again  and  the  frogmouth 
resumed  its  lugubrious  night  song. 

There  are  volcanic  regions  at  both  ends  of  the  great 
island,  but  the  central  highlands  are  without  volcanoes,  and 
earthquakes  are  quite  rare.  In  this  equatorial  climate,  with- 
out seasons,  where  the  steady  pressure  of  the  trade  winds 
makes  rain  and  sun  constants  of  every  day,  nature  is  less 
violent  than  remorseless.  High  winds,  drought,  the  torrential 

104    • 


rainstorms  of  the  monsoon  coasts,  are  almost  unknown,  and 
perhaps  this  is  why  the  akuni,  taking  for  granted  their  mild, 
equable  weathers,  have  not  invested  the  rare  tempests  and 
earthquakes  with  supernatural  powers;  as  a  people  they  are 
notably  unsuperstitious.  Heat  lightning  is  said  to  be  the 
blood  of  a  man  killed  by  his  enemies,  rising  into  the  sky,  and 
the  sky  itself  is  thought  to  harbor  other  peoples;  there  was 
a  rope  leading  down  to  earth,  but,  as  the  sky  peoples  stole 
too  many  pigs  and  women,  the  rope  was  cut.  According  to 
Asikanalek,  the  rope  was  cut  by  Kurelu  himself,  but  U-mue 
says  no,  the  rope  was  cut  long,  long  ago. 

On  the  night  of  the  earthquake  the  men  of  U-mue's 
pilai  descended  from  the  sleeping  loft  and  smoked;  they 
talked  uneasily  of  the  earthquake  and  wondered  at  its 
origin  and,  after  a  while,  returned  above  and  went  to  sleep. 


•     105 


•  A  full  moon  came  at  the  end  of  May,  and,  as  it 
filled,  a  fresh  wind  of  the  southeast  trades,  which  prevail 
from  May  until  October,  cleared  the  humid  airs.  Buffy  night 
herons  had  come  into  the  valley  and  circled  the  landscapes 
with  the  blue  heron  and  egret;  the  black  ducks,  now  very 
numerous  with  the  new  birds  of  the  spring  nests,  were  joined 
by  the  solitary  mountain  duck,  a  rare  small  species,  black 
and  white,  with  a  bright  orange  bill.  Together  they  curved 
down  in  the  afternoons  into  the  ditches  of  the  fields. 

The  mountain  duck  has  flown  these  valleys  for  a  million 
years  and  has  never  been  seen  anywhere  but  in  the  high- 
lands; probably  it  evolved  when  the  valley  floor  was  still  a 
glaciated  lake  traversed  by  limestone  salients  and  ridges. 
The  lakes  and  marshlands  lay  between  the  ridges,  and  the 
ducks  gabbled  in  warm  mornings  never  seen  by  man.  But 
the  limestone  barriers  eroded  quickly,  and  the  lakes  seeped 
away.  The  Siobara,  like  a  great  pyramid  in  the  center  of  the 
valley,  is  probably  a  remnant  of  just  such  a  ridge,  while  high 
ground  like  the  Tokolik  may  well  have  been  lake  shore:  the 
lake-floor  gardens,  were  they  not  drained  by  ditches,  would 
still  be  part  of  the  acid  marshland  which  surrounds  the 
Waraba, 

The  dry  ground  in  those  old  millenniums,  and  the  lower 
slopes  to  nearly  seven  thousand  feet,  were  forested  by  tropic 
oaks  and  chestnuts  interspersed  with  stands  of  araucaria. 
The  oak-and-chestnut  forest  was  a  sign  of  arable  land  and, 
with  the  coming  of  man,  was  the  first  casualty;  its  destruc- 
tion was  hastened  by  the  advent  of  the  sweet  potato,  though 
whether  this  occurred  three  centuries  or  three  thousand  years 
ago  cannot  be  known.  The  hiperi,  and  the  large  population 

106     tf 


which  its  cultivation  permitted,  encouraged  extensive  clear- 
ing; across  the  centuries  the  fields  crept  up  the  slopes,  trail- 
ing the  forest,  and  the  drainage  and  development  of  the 
valley  floor  evolved.  Each  garden  was  short-lived:  once  the 
topsoil  was  cropped  out  and  leached  away  by  year-round 
planting,  it  was  abandoned  and  a  new  plot  slashed  and 
burned  and  cleared. 

The  topsoil  inevitably  went  quickly.  Alluvial  sediment, 
sifted  down  across  the  ages  from  the  high  massifs,  it  was  a 
poor  compound  of  limestone  and  quartz  sandstone;  the 
limestone,  weathered,  produced  a  weak,  soluble  soil  and, 
in  the  end,  dead  white  quartzitic  sand:  patches  of  this 
sand  erupted  long  ago  along  the  base  of  the  Siobara  and  on 
the  rain-leached  hills,  the  bare  bones  of  a  limy,  anemic  earth. 

In  consequence,  after  a  year  or  two  or  three,  the  gardens 
must  be  abandoned  to  savanna.  The  savanna  is  all  but 
wasteland.  Except  for  small  rodents  caught  for  rituals, 
there  are  no  animals  worth  hunting.  The  grass  shelters  a  tiny 
quail,  a  small  gray  rail,  a  scattering  of  songbirds  like  the 
robin  chat  and  fairy-wren  and  black-headed  weaver  finch: 
the  paucity  of  grassland  birds  which  have  occupied  the 
open  regions  hints  that  the  history  of  the  akuni  in  the  Baliem 
has  been  a  brief  one,  for  the  grassland  is  of  their  making.  But 
the  time  of  their  own  coming  the  akuni  cannot  tell,  only  that 
it  was  long  ago,  with  the  father  of  their  fathers.  The  villages 
rot,  and  the  dead  go  up  in  fire,  and  their  history  decomposes 
in  the  soil. 

In  the  clear  days  which  accompanied  the  flowering  of 
the  moon,  a  new  black  patch  appeared  below  Wuperainma, 
in  the  bottom  of  what  once  had  been  an  ancient  pond.  Here 
Tegearek  and  Werene  reclaimed  a  garden.  The  work  was 
hard,  for  the  shrubs  had  long  ago  established  solid  banks, 
even  small  trees,  and  the  ground  between  was  bound  up 
tight  with  mats  of  roots.  The  sides  of  the  old  drainage  ditches 

•     107 


had  fallen  in,  and  the  shallow  water  was  choked  off  with 
weeds  and  rushes. 

The  two  men  worked  adjoining  plots  and  sometimes 
worked  together.  From  day  to  day  their  helpers  changed,  in 
the  intricate  patterns  of  kinship  and  obligation.  Each  man 
had  a  heavy  digging  stick,  which  he  drove  into  dark,  grudg- 
ing earth  of  purple-brown:  the  sticks  made  a  dull  biting 
sound  and  a  muffled  cracking  as  the  roots  were  pried  and 
snapped.  The  litter  of  fire-blackened  stumps  and  roots  on 
the  scorched  ground  gave  the  whole  scene  an  air  of  barren 
land,  to  be  worked  in  vain  by  the  black,  panting  bodies. 
Only  a  few  yards  away,  across  the  ditches,  the  undergrowth 
stood  in  wait,  as  if  ready  to  retake  this  ground  at  the  first 
sign  of  negligence:  beneath  the  blossoms  and  the  bright 
green  leaves,  the  roots  were  creeping  forward,  and  the  new 
seeds  fattened  with  every  sun  in  the  receptacles  of  the 
flowers. 

Werene  the  Parrot  spat  in  the  dry  sun,  a  neat,  quiet, 
and  uneasy  man  who  wears  a  string  of  pale  blue  grass  seeds, 
die  Job's  Tears,  across  his  forehead;  like  his  young  brother 
Hanumoak  he  is  a  handsome  man,  but  his  face  is  weak  and 
sour,  as  if  he  knew  that  his  ambitions  must  go  unfulfilled  for 
want  of  the  power  or  courage  to  see  them  implemented. 


•  A  young  woman  of  the  Siep-Kosi  came  to  visit  the 
southern  villages,  and  WeaHekek  detained  her  as  a  wife; 
the  girl  was  put  to  work  in  the  gardens  below  Puakaloba, 
where  he  was  able  to  keep  an  eye  on  her. 

U-mue,  hearing  of  this  girl  and  wishing  her  for  himself, 

108     • 


had  demanded  immediately  to  know  if  she  were  wita  or 
toaia,  the  two  moieties  or  marriage  groups  into  which  all 
clans  in  the  valley  are  divided,  according  to  their  patrilineal 
line.  If  Weaklekek,  a  waia,  should  make  love  to  a  waia 
woman,  both  of  them  might  be  put  to  death  and  their  bodies 
thrown  out  into  the  fields  to  rot.  The  prohibition  is  an  ancient 
one,  so  ancient  that  no  explanation  is  known;  it  is  not  con- 
nected by  the  akuni  with  incest.  Two  associated  clans  are 
invariably  wita  and  waia,  so  that  marriage  may  take  place 
between  them,  just  as  two  men  who  share  a  sili  are  apt  to 
be  wita  and  waia,  for,  if  both  were  wita,  they  could  make 
love  to  each  other's  wives.  The  Wilil  are  wita,  the  Haiman 
waia,  die  Walilo  wita,  and  Alua  waia.  Weaklekek  had  very 
soon  determined  the  girl's  moiety — it  is  the  first  question 
asked  of  any  stranger  who  is  not  killed — which  was  wita. 
Since  U-mue,  as  a  Wilil,  was  wita  also,  he  was  thus  ineligi- 
ble. A  few  days  later  the  girl  herself  resolved  the  matter  by 
fleeing  back  to  the  Siep-Kosi. 


109 


•  This  morning  a  party  of  Asuk-Palek  people,  led 
by  a  kain  named  Torobia,  prepared  an  ambush  in  the  gar- 
dens of  the  northern  Kurelu.  The  Asuk-Palek  lived  formerly 
in  the  Kurelu,  in  the  region  of  Wuperainma,  but  were  driven 
out  long  ago.  Many  were  killed  and  many  others  had  their 
ears  cut  off;  the  rest  settled  among  the  Wittaia.  At  this  time 
they  were  named,  and  are  called  still,  the  Asuk-Palek,  or 
"Ears  Cut." 

While  stalking  the  kaio,  the  Asuk-Palek  were  surprised 
by  three  Kurelu,  then  by  two  more,  coming  from  an  opposite 
direction.  The  five  Kurelu  saw  immediately  that  they  were 
outnumbered,  while  Torobia's  band  imagined  that  they  had 
blundered  into  an  ambush.  Both  sides  fled.  Polik  and  his 
men,  who  were  nearby,  pursued  the  party  of  Asuk-Palek. 
They  wounded  one  man  and  they  caught  Torobia;  while 
some  held  him,  others  ran  him  through  with  spears.  From 
his  head  they  cut  some  bits  of  hair.  There  is  rarely  time  or 
opportunity  to  stop  and  strip  an  enemy  body,  and  the  hair 
is  therefore  a  prized  fetish. 

Tonight  the  celebration  started  in  Abulopak,  where  Po- 
lik lives  with  his  kinsman,  Wereklowe.  The  etai  starts  always 
in  Abulopak,  which  is  the  largest  of  the  southern  villages;  it 
is  actually  two  villages  in  one,  since  it  now  includes  the  for- 
mer Wilil  stronghold  which  adjoins  it.  With  few  exceptions, 
the  most  important  kains  and  warriors  of  the  Aike  region  live 
in  Abulopak  or  Wuperainma;  the  exceptions  are  Weaklekek 
in  Homaklep,  Asikanalek  in  Abukumo,  and  Apeore  in  Lo- 
koparek.  The  other  villages  in  this  region  are  thought  of  as 
kepu,  since  they  cannot  claim  an  important  kain  or  warrior 
between  them. 


I  10 


The  whooping  was  pierced  by  the  ringing  whistle  o£ 
the  huge  cicadas;  the  cicadas  cry  briefly  every  evening  just 
at  dark,  as  time-bound  as  the  folding  of  the  ferns.  The  eve- 
ning passed,  and  the  whooping  rose  toward  a  moon  in  its 
final  quarter,  continuing  on  long  after  the  insects  had  died 
away.  To  Homuak  there  came  an  owl,  hooting  uneasily 
against  the  din,  and  the  great  fruit  bats,  the  flying  foxes,  on 
slow  leather  wings,  quartered  the  evergreen  silhouettes.  An 
opossum  coughed,  and  the  nightjar  with  its  great  mouth  and 
whiskers  took  up  its  sepulchral  song,  an  odd  tok — tok,  like  a 
shell  rapped  on  a  block  of  hollowed  wood,  interspersed  with 
froggish  mutterings.  Sometimes  the  green  tree  frogs  called, 
and  sometimes  the  black  dogs,  crying:  these  strange  animals 
never  bark,  nor  do  they  howl.  Their  sound  is  the  wail  of  a 
spirit  trapped  in  the  body  of  a  dog,  and  its  eeriness  passes 
onward  through  the  night  villages  in  the  moon  shadows  of 
the  mountain  wall. 

At  dawn  Polik  came  to  Homuak.  Standing  at  the  fire 
site  above  the  spring,  he  called,  A-OH,  A-OH.  The  cry  was 
taken  up  from  the  villages  to  north  and  south,  and  the  long 
day  of  etai  which  would  celebrate  Torobia's  death  had 
started. 

But  the  sun  had  not  appeared  above  the  rim  when  a 
troop  of  warriors,  still  heavy-faced  with  sleep,  trotted  swiftly 
through  the  grove,  bearing  their  spears.  One  called  out  to 
Polik,  and  he  ran  after  them,  grunting  fiercely;  the  Wittaia, 
still  raging  for  revenge,  had  come  in  from  the  Tokolik  and 
set  fire  to  a  kaio  shelter  of  the  Kosi-Alua.  They  had  destroyed 
the  tobacco  patch  and  uprooted  plots  of  sweet  potatoes  in 
the  gardens  nearby. 

The  warriors  passed  through  the  low  wood  below  Wu- 
perainma  and  Homaklep,  and  over  the  grassy  knoll  called 
Anelarok,  where  the  women  of  Lokoparek,  on  their  way  to 
the  Liberek,  would  stop  that  day  to  dance.  They  ran  on  to- 
ff MI 


ward  the  Aike,  to  guard  against  a  raid  from  the  Turaba,  and 
a  group  of  eight  had  crossed  to  the  Turaba  itself,  to  act  as 
sentries. 

The  fair  weather  of  the  full  moon  had  continued,  and 
a  huge  blue  day  expanded  above  the  valley.  From  southeast 
to  southwest  the  rim  was  sharp  as  a  black,  jagged  blade,  with 
only  the  northern  wall  lost  in  the  white  cloud  mountains. 
Thin  wisps  of  mist  drifted  through  the  distant  woods,  like 
spider  webs  trailed  out  by  the  soft  wind;  this  was  the  trade 
wind  from  the  ocean,  beyond  the  high  horizons,  which  had 
dried  the  valley  floor  in  a  rare  four  days  without  rain.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  early  days  of  April  the  sun  rose  cleanly 
from  behind  the  cliffs,  scattering  small  brilliant  puffs  of 
clouds:  it  gleamed  on  the  rufous  mantle  of  a  white-headed 
kite  quartering  low  across  the  gardens  of  Weaklekek. 

Wittaia  appeared  on  the  Tokolik,  and  a  shout  arose  from 
the  villages  beneath  the  wall;  the  warriors  of  the  Kurelu 
streamed  out  across  the  fields  toward  the  frontier.  More  Wit- 
taia convened  on  the  near  slope  of  the  Waraba,  in  silent 
wait.  Polik  went  out  with  other  men  to  the  large  central 
kaio,  which  stands  on  a  wide  belt  of  high  ground  traversing 
the  main  gardens.  Tuesike  was  also  there.  He  had  done  light 
work  in  the  few  days  past  and  was  slowly  resuming  his  life 
as  a  warrior.,  but  he  moved  uncertainly  and  was  quieter  than 
before. 

On  the  Turaba,  meanwhile,  some  Kurelu  sentries  hud- 
dled together  against  the  early  cold.  They  had  not  dared 
light  the  fire,  for  fear  of  revealing  their  position.  Expecting 
that  any  Wittaia  ought  to  come  from  the  direction  of  his 
own  country,  they  were  facing  westward,  down  the  ridge, 
and  were  startled  when  a  man  appeared  quite  suddenly 
from  behind  them.  At  first  they  thought  that  the  man  was 
Tekman  Bio,  but  when  he  called  out  to  them,  they  recog- 
nized in  dismay  a  fierce  warrior  who,  some  years  before, 

712    » 


fleeing  the  wrath  of  his  own  people,  had  been  accepted  by 
the  Wittaia:  he  knew  every  stone  in  the  land  of  the  Kurelu 
and  had  crept  up  on  the  sentry  party  from  behind.  He  also 
knew  the  sentries  and  their  caliber,  and,  though  he  had  but 
two  men  with  him,  they  were  good  men,  and  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  approach  boldly.  He  yelled  at  the  Kurelu  to  get 
off  the  Turaba,  that  it  was  Wittaia  land. 

All  the  sentries  except  Hanumoak  acted  swiftly  on  the 
assumption  that  the  Wittaia  had  many  others  in  the  rocks 
behind  them;  without  pausing  for  their  bows  and  spears, 
they  got  off  the  Turaba  so  rapidly  that  big  Woknabin 
sprained  his  ankle.  Hanumoak,  the  only  true  warrior  in  the 
party,  had  been  sitting  a  little  apart,  among  the  rocks;  the 
Wittaia  had  not  seen  him,  and,  instead  of  running,  Hanu- 
moak remained  hidden,  reluctant  to  lose  his  spear.  A  good 
spear  was  carefully  carved  and  very  valuable,  and  a  half- 
dozen  had  been  left  behind.  But  the  Wittaia  found  the 
spears  and  bows  and  bore  them  off  in  triumph.  Mean- 
while the  sentries  had  raised  the  alarm,  and  a  terrific  howl- 
ing echoed  from  the  farther  bank. 

Polik  and  the  rest  ran  toward  the  Aike,  starting  a  fright- 
ened gray  rail  from  the  grass.  Other  bands  led  by  Yeke  Asuk 
and  Weaklekek  were  strung  out  across  the  distance,  coming 
fast.  A  large  company  of  Wittaia,  a  hundred  spears  or  more, 
sprang  up  suddenly  along  the  crest  of  the  Turaba,  and  the 
two  tribes  hurled  insults  at  each  other  across  the  brown, 
swift  silence  of  the  river.  In  the  confusion  Hanumoak  slipped 
down  among  the  boulders  and  returned  across  the  Aike  at 
the  land  bridge,  where  the  torrent  dives  beneath  a  wide 
ledge  of  rock. 

The  enemy,  incensed  by  the  recent  raids,  were  clamor- 
ing for  war.  In  the  weeks  past  they  had  lost  Huwai,  Torobia, 
and  at  least  four  others,  casualties  of  wounds  suffered  in  the 
wars,  while  the  Kurelu  had  lost  only  one  man.  Their  bold 

•     I  13 


appearance  on  the  Tokolik  and  now  the  Turaba,  with  the 
disgrace  of  the  lost  spears,  had  excited  the  Kurelu,  and  war 
had  become  inevitable.  The  Wittaia  moved  slowly  off  the 
Turaba,  filing,  spears  high,  down  the  ridge,  and  the  Kurelu 
moved  out  toward  the  frontier  to  wait  for  them.  Men  of  the 
Kosi-Alua,  assembling  for  the  etai,  were  in  war  regalia;  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  etai  field,  they  went  to  the  Tokolik.  On 
the  flanks  of  the  Waraba  another  krge  company  of  Wittaia 
watched  them  come. 

The  Kurelu  filed  carefully  through  the  swamp  below 
the  Waraba  but  remained  within  the  cover  of  the  sedges; 
when  they  outnumbered  the  advance  Wittaia,  the  latter  re- 
tired to  the  crest,  awaiting  reinforcements.  The  withdrawal 
brought  a  yell  from  the  Kurelu,  who  surged  onto  the  flank 
of  the  hill;  in  a  short  time  they  had  gained  the  crest  and 
driven  the  enemy  to  the  west  end  of  the  L.  In  the  brief 
skirmishing  which  took  place  Tegearek  received  an  arrow 
in  the  small  of  his  back,  and  a  son  of  Maitmo,  kain  of  the 
Haiman,  was  wounded  also. 

On  the  Tokolik  the  men  were  rallied  by  Nilik,  kain  of 
the  Walilo.  Nilik  is  a  tall  hawk-faced  man  with  a  harsh  voice 
and  darting  eyes,  and  he  was  presently  engaged  in  a  power 
struggle  with  Kurelu,  The  dispute  concerned  the  ownership 
of  the  ap  warek — literally,  "dead  men,"  the  booty — which 
came  of  the  raid  and  resultant  battle  in  which  Huwai  had 
been  killed.  The  ap  warek  are  held  by  the  great  kains,  and 
in  the  past  Kurelu  would  have  received  them,  but  this  time 
Nilik  had  kept  them  and  shared  them  with  his  kinsman 
Yoroick,  in  honor  of  whose  son  the  raid  had  taken  place; 
Nilik  had  also  claimed  the  spoils  taken  from  Torobia.  Now 
he  harangued  the  older  men  and  lesser  kains  as  they  gath- 
ered and  sat  and  smoked.  He  wore  a  tight  brown  head  net, 
like  a  skull  cap,  but,  shoulders  excepted,  he  was  otherwise 

714    m 


undecorated:  on  his  shoulders  he  wore  a  coat  of  heavy  cky, 
yellow-sulphurous  in  color. 

Midday  came,  in  a  dead  silence.  On  the  west  side  of  the 
Siobara  a  large  fire  had  been  built,  a  signal  to  the  Wittaia 
allies  that  a  war  was  to  take  place,  By  the  shelters  of  the 
frontier  kaios  the  men  waited  in  the  languid  drone  of  flies; 
most  would  have  preferred  the  etai,  and  few  went  forward 
to  join  the  warriors  who  had  taken  the  Waraba.  Beneath  the 
great  araucaria  by  the  Tokolik,  Asok-meke  took  his  arrows, 
one  by  one,  and  scraped  them  sharp;  Asok-meke  is  too  old 
to  fight  in  the  front  lines  but  is  still  belligerent  in  the  re- 
serves. A  bird  of  the  grasslands  called  now  and  again,  a  soli- 
tary wistful  note  which  accented  the  stillness.  The  blue  sky 
reigned,  but  the  air  turned  heavy  and  lugubrious. 

On  an  old  man's  shoulder,  in  the  sun,  a  butterfly  opened 
and  closed  its  wings  as  if  to  the  rhythm  of  his  breathing. 

A  band  came  from  the  Aike,  led  by  Weaklekek.  They 
moved  directly  across  the  Tokolik  and  into  the  swamp,  and 
their  passage  caused  an  unspoken  stir:  all  but  the  oldest 
men  rose  to  their  feet  and  followed  Weaklekek  to  the  Wa- 
raba. The  Wittaia  held  the  long  side  on  the  L,  and  the  Ku- 
relu  the  short:  the  Wittaia  side  of  the  corner  of  the  L  would 
be  the  fighting  ground.  Fighting  began  almost  immediately. 

The  comer  of  the  L  forms  the  high  point  of  the  ridge, 
a  reed-covered  knoll  perhaps  eighty  feet  above  the  swamp; 
the  advance  Kurelu  were  gathered  here,  Husuk  was  there, 
in  shoulders  of  gray  clay,  and  Limo  and  Weaklekek  and  a 
scattering  of  warriors  good  and  bad:  the  main  group  of  the 
Kurelu  remained  at  the  northern  end,  while  a  detachment 
of  warriors,  constantly  replaced,  fought  on  the  forward  line. 
The  line  extended  from  a  grassy  hollow  in  the  corner  of  the 
L,  below  the  knoll,  up  into  the  large  rocks  of  the  ridge  crest. 
The  fighting  was  still  pantomimed,  though  a  few  arrows 

m    us 


flew;  men  of  both  sides  darted  out  in  seizures  of  bravado, 
pranced  and  feinted  with  their  spears,  fled  back  again.  The 
Wittaia  warriors  were  more  gaudy  than  the  Kurelu:  one  man 
in  feathers  of  black  and  red  wore  tusks  in  his  nostrils  which 
stuck  straight  out  to  the  sides  instead  of  curling  down,  and 
another  had  large  white  egret  feathers  in  a  cape  which  flew 
the  whole  length  of  his  back. 

All  took  chances  to  display  their  splendor,  but  the  Wit- 
taia took  more  chances  than  the  Kurelu,  whose  apathy  about 
the  war  was  evident  in  their  small  numbers.  The  Wittaia 
had  come  in  hundreds,  and  large  parties  of  warriors  were 
posted  back  along  the  ridge,  with  a  reserve  company  of 
nearly  two  hundred  men  in  a  huge  black  spear-thorned  pha- 
lanx at  the  base  of  the  Siobara. 

On  the  knoll  the  Kurelu  laughed  indulgently  at  the 
bravado  of  the  elege  Siloba,  who  took  wild  chances  in  the 
forays,  glancing  backward  for  approval,  Siloba  is  feckless 
and  frequently  wounded.  A  roar  went  up  when  three  brave 
warriors  ran  into  the  rocks  to  seize  a  Wittaia  spear;  Asikana- 
lek,  reaching  it,  was  set  upon  by  eight  or  more  Wittaia  who 
came  at  him  from  above,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  head.  He 
backed  off  slowly  into  the  shelter  of  the  rocks  on  his  own 
side,  holding  the  spearmen  at  bay  until  the  moment  for 
rushing  him  had  passed.  A  cheer  went  up;  the  spectators  on 
the  knoll  shook  their  heads  and  laughed. 

Only  Nilik  and  Maitmo  were  excited,  the  first  because 
he  was  asserting  his  new  leadership,  the  second  because  his 
son  had  been  wounded  in  the  morning:  Maitmo  had  been 
the  most  fanatic  of  the  kains  ever  since  the  day  a  few  moons 
earlier  when  three  of  his  wives  had  been  killed  by  the  Wit- 
taia. But  their  fierce  yelling  failed  to  stir  the  warriors,  many 
of  whom  had  started  to  move  back  toward  the  swamp,  in 
the  direction  of  the  etai  field.  Only  a  few  among  those  at  the 


fore  fought  with  intensity,  kept  company  by  Woluklek  and  a 
scattering  of  leggy  boys,  brave  and  unfeathered,  with  small 
wobbly  spears  and  scraggy  bows.  Siloba,  wounded  in  the 
foot,  limped  back  self-consciously,  clutching  the  prized  ar- 
row tip  where  all  could  see  it;  he  had  chosen  a  look  of  wor- 
ried modesty  to  conceal  his  pride,  as  if  to  say,  I  did  only 
what  I  could.  Woluklek,  with  the  immunity  of  an  innocent, 
took  desperate  chances  aimlessly,  gathering  enemy  arrows 
with  a  happy  smile  as  if  he  were  gathering  up  nuts,  and  for- 
getting to  fire  any  of  his  own.  Weaklekek,  Apeore,  Hanu- 
moak,  and  Walimo  gave  spine  to  the  Kurelu  line,  while 
U-mue,  brandishing  his  spear  in  the  second  rank,  shrieked 
menace.  Walimo  had  smeared  his  lower  half  with  reddish 
clay,  like  tights;  he  skipped  frantically  as  a  spear  caromed 
off  his  thigh  but  returned  again  to  die  front  line,  leaping  and 
bounding  uselessly  in  the  panic  of  his  own  bravado.  But 
most  of  the  Wilihiman-Walalua  declined  to  join  the  battle, 
so  much  so  that  Maitmo,  ranging  up  and  down,  shouted  out 
at  them  his  contempt. 

Below  in  the  hollow,  Aloro,  disreputable  beneath  a 
soiled  white  crown,  fought  beside  some  Kosi-Alua.  Speared 
through  the  arm  only  ten  days  before  in  a  war  on  the  north 
frontier,  he  stalked  and  circled,  aiming  steadily  and  firing 
from  the  hip.  With  weapons  in  his  hands  he  attains  grace, 
as  if  the  bow  brought  his  body  into  balance.  Aloro  moved 
up  the  hill  and  down,  hunting  his  chance;  he  remained  for- 
ward all  the  afternoon,  when  even  Weaklekek  had  returned 
to  the  knoll  to  rest.  His  arrows,  sailing  viciously  across  the 
tops  of  rocks,  kept  his  opponents  low  and  wary.  In  battle 
Aloro  looks  peaceful,  almost  sleepy. 

But  the  Kurelu  gravitated  to  the  north  tip  of  the  War- 
aba,  ignoring  the  catcalls  of  the  enemy.  In  the  late  after- 
noon, they  staged  a  preliminary  etai,  jumping  in  a  circle  as 

»     I  17 


they  chanted,  and  a  few  had  already  started  through  the 
swamp  when  the  Wittaia  howled  out  their  frustration  and 
surged  forward.  They  outnumbered  the  Kurelu,  and  they 
seriously  outnumbered  the  Kurelu  who  wished  to  fight:  in 
a  few  minutes  they  had  overrun  the  lines  and  taken  com- 
mand of  the  high  knoll.  A  myzomela,  strayed  across  the 
battlefield,  bounded  upward  on  the  wave  of  noise;  the  sun- 
light caught  on  its  crimson  cordon  as  it  vanished  back  into 
the  dull  greens  of  the  land. 

The  Kurelu  had  backed  into  the  swamp,  all  but  a  small 
company  of  warriors  marshaled  by  Husuk  and  Weaklekek. 
A  horde  of  Wittaia  danced  down  from  the  hilltop.  The  howl- 
ing was  immense,  seeming  to  swell,  to  fill  the  twilight  like  a 
thunder,  and  the  Wittaia,  white-tusked  and  feathered,  shat- 
tered the  long  line  of  the  hill,  leaping  and  squatting  with 
the  glinting  spears;  their  gleaming  bodies,  bending,  weav- 
ing, stretched  to  throw  a  spear,  were  magnificent  and  grim 
in  the  strange  light  of  the  failing  sky. 

The  Kurelu  were  also  grim  and  struggled  to  withstand 
them.  The  fighting  was  suddenly  in  savage  earnest,  with 
neither  taunts  nor  braggadocio.  The  arrows  crossed  one  an- 
other in  mid-air,  dropping  low  and  fast  as  the  lines  closed;  a 
Wittaia  and  a  Kurelu,  nearly  colliding  by  mistake,  fought 
each  other  off  with  a  clash  of  spears.  All  the  warriors  were 
crouching  now,  to  avoid  getting  hit  in  the  stomach  or  the 
chest,  for  the  man  thus  wounded  was  more  likely  than  not 
to  die.  They  moved  across  the  hillside,  squatting  low,  swift 
as  great  spiders.  Husuk  moved  among  the  men,  touching 
and  reassuring  them,  but  the  wounded  were  already  coming 
back;  a  man  clutched  an  arrow  that  protruded  from  his  up- 
per leg,  and  Wakilu  of  Sulaki  held  one  that  was  buried  in 
his  inner  thigh,  below  the  groin.  Wakilu  had  sunk  down  just 
beyond  the  fighting,  and  the  men  who  operated  on  him 
peered  warily  over  his  shoulder:  when  the  arrow  sprang  free, 
with  a  rush  of  blood,  the  men  laughed  in  relief  and  hurried 
TJB  m 


toward  the  rear.  Wakilu's  wound  was  not  serious,  but  it  be- 
came infected,  and  two  moons  later  he  would  die. 

A  man  came  back  with  an  arrow  through  the  skin  of 
his  head,  along  the  temple;  the  arrow  protruded  like  a  gro- 
tesque feather.  Another  sprouted  foolishly  from  a  young 
warrior's  right  buttock;  he  returned  unhappily  to  the  end 
of  the  ridge  and  sprawled  on  all  fours  while  an  old  man  dug 
it  out.  The  warrior  grunted  with  each  tug  and  smiled  thinly 
with  relief  when  it  was  over.  Other  wounded  hobbled  back, 
and  even  loud  Huonke  had  miscalculated;  he  had  been 
speared  in  the  upper  leg,  and  he  hastened  rearward  in  con- 
sternation, his  furtive  face  glancing  back  over  his  shoulder. 
Walimo  was  wounded  in  the  shoulder,  and  Hanumoak 
caught  an  arrow  on  the  hipbone,  but  neither  wound  was 
serious,  and  nobody  on  either  side  was  killed  outright, 
though  a  Wittaia  was  seriously  speared  and  a  Kosi-Alua  was 
wounded  badly  in  the  breast.  Siba  had  come  late  to  the  war, 
but  in  the  final  battle  he  was  struck  in  the  chest,  just  at  the 
right  nipple. 

More  than  fifteen  of  the  Kurelu  were  wounded,  and  the 
battle  line  fell  apart.  Another  surge  of  the  Wittaia  drove  the 
Kurelu  entirely  off  the  ridge.  The  Wittaia  screeched  and 
threatened  from  above,  led  by  two  fierce  warriors  who  had 
been  in  the  forefront  all  day.  One  of  these  was  young  and 
swift,  with  a  fixed,  quiet  grin,  the  other  a  wild-mouthed  man 
whose  long  corded  hair  flopped  crazily  on  his  shoulders  as 
he  leapt;  from  below,  the  two  were  silhouetted  on  the  twi- 
light sun,  black  spears  shivering. 

With  a  concerted  hail  of  arrows,  the  Kurelu  regained  a 
foothold  on  the  Waraba.  But  dark  was  near,  and  the  Wittaia 
had  already  claimed  the  victory,  moving  off  in  triumph. 
Both  sides  held  a  brief  dance  of  victory:  the  Kurelu,  despite 
the  defeat  they  had  suffered,  were  proud  that  they  had  done 
as  well  with  such  small  numbers. 

Kurelu  himself  had  come  and  looked  morosa  He  sat 

«     719 


alone  in  the  tall  grass,  taking  no  part,  as  if  he  had  learned, 
just  at  that  moment,  that  Nilik  meant  to  claim  the  spoils  of 
war. 


•  Among  those  injured  on  the  Waraba,  the  only 

man  pleased  with  his  wound  was  Walimo.  Walimo's  striking 
dress  and  warlike  behavior,  unremarkable  in  the  past,  have 
been  encouraged  by  special  circumstances:  he  has  been 
warned  by  Husuk  that  such  behavior  might  save  his  life. 

Some  time  ago  Walimo  paid  a  visit  to  clansmen  among 
the  Huwikiak,  on  the  far  side  of  the  Baliem.  The  Huwikiak 
are  allies  of  the  Wittaia,  and  the  journey  was  therefore  a 
very  foolish  one.  Still,  he  returned  safely,  traveling  by  night. 
The  kains  were  very  angry,  thinking  it  bad  luck  for  a  man 
to  traffic  with  the  enemy:  treachery  is  punishable  by  death, 
and  while  Walimo's  act  was  in  no  way  subversive,  his  airy 
personality  was  not  taken  into  account.  Wereklowe  and 
Maitmo  wish  to  kill  him,  and  either  he  must  run  away  or 
try  to  redeem  himself  before  it  is  too  late. 

Community  punishment  is  rare  and  very  serious,  in  the 
exceptional  cases  when  it  is  not  fatal.  Some  years  ago  a  man 
of  the  Mokoko  tribe  on  the  far  side  of  the  Baliem  was  pun- 
ished by  his  own  village  for  setting  fires  in  the  fields.  He 
had  a  taste  for  mice  and  rats,  which  he  would  catch  by 
burning  off  the  grass  hiding  their  holes;  when  his  fires  en- 
dangered the  crops  of  his  neighbors,  he  was  warned  to  give 
them  up.  But  his  appetite  was  too  strong  for  him,  and  one 
day  he  was  seized  and  held  face  down  over  a  new  fire  of  his 
own  making. 

720    • 


This  man  is  a  familiar  figure  along  the  banks  of  the 
Baliem.  He  wears  a  fine  mikak  and  an  enormous  headdress 
of  white  feathers,  framing  a  hideous  shrunk  face  with  neither 
nose  nor  mouth.  There  is  a  small  slit  through  which  food 
may  be  passed  and  from  which  a  muffled  sound  fights  free, 
like  a  voice  calling  in  a  grave. 


•  The  efai  for  Torobia's  death  was  held  the  follow- 
ing day.  The  men  of  Wuperainma  did  not  go  to  special  pains 
for  the  etai,  especially  since  three  of  their  best  men  had 
been  hurt  the  day  before.  Hanumoak,  by  morning,  only 
winced  a  little  when  he  moved,  though  he  would  liinp  for 
a  few  days  to  come,  and  Tegearek  sewed  stolidly  at  a  new 
shell  bib,  for  he  is  not  a  man  readily  disconcerted,  even  by 
an  arrow  in  his  back.  Behind  him  Siba  sat,  precisely  where 
Tuesike  had  sat  two  weeks  before;  like  Tuesike,  he  would 
survive,  but  he  was  in  severe  pain.  His  whole  torso  was 
wrapped  in  taro  leaves  bound  so  tightly  with  vine  that  he 
could  scarcely  get  a  breath,  and  his  eyes  bulged;  his  horim 
had  been  snapped  off  like  the  broken  bone  of  a  bird  and  had 
not  been  replaced.  After  a  while  he  slumped  onto  one  side, 
clutching  himself,  and  began  to  groan.  Then  he  crept  pain- 
fully to  the  dark  wall  in  the  back,  and  crouched  there,  facing 
it.  A  second  groan  seemed  less  in  pain  than  in  fear,  and  his 
friends  glanced  at  one  another  in  discomfort. 

Most  of  the  warriors  retained  their  decoration  of  the 
day  before,  including  WeaHekek,  who  is  the  rare  warrior 
without  vanity.  He  is  content  with  his  old  modest  battered 


bib  and  rarely  or  never  wears  other  decoration;  as  fast  as 
Weaklekek  acquires  wealth,  he  gives  it  all  away. 

Weaklekek's  dignity  and  generosity  are  important  criteria 
for  true  kainship,  and  he  ranks  with  Limo  as  an  important 
war  kain  of  the  Alua.  But  Weaklekek  is  more  fearless  and 
less  ruthless  than  is  good  for  him,  and  he  may  not  survive 
to  take  a  place  as  one  of  the  great  leaders.  His  clansman 
Limo  will  survive,  tall,  classic  Limo  with  very  large  eyes 
full  of  reserve  power  and  contempt,  who  on  the  morning 
of  etai  sat  eating  hiperi  in  Weaklekek's  pilai,  not  with  the 
gusto  and  pleasure  of  his  host,  but  with  a  sort  of  remote 
arrogance,  pointed  up  by  his  long  tobacco  pipe  and  by  the 
largest  shell  bib  in  the  Kurelu,  One  is  caught  by  Limo's  face 
and  drowns  in  the  coldness  of  his  eyes. 

Around  them  sat  Asukwan  and  other  warriors  of  the 
pilai,  all  dressed  far  more  splendidly  than  Weaklekek  him- 
self. Weaklekek  squatted  on  his  haunches,  scraping  potash 
from  a  sweet  potato,  delighted  with  everyone  and  every- 
thing. From  time  to  time  he  took  up  a  new  horim,  still  green, 
and  blew  through  it  approvingly. 

Weaklekek,  trailed  by  Asukwan,  went  to  the  knoll  called 
Anelarok  for  the  preliminary  etai.  There  the  men  had  gathered 
in  midmorning  and  begun  to  sing.  Tekinan  Bio  led  the  sing- 
ing in  his  high,  strange  voice,  as  one  man  always  does,  and 
the  others  chanted  in  response.  On  Tekman  Bio's  head  the 
strange  blue-veined  plume  from  the  head  of  a  bird  of  paradise 
was  mounted  on  the  long  black  tail  plume  of  another.  As 
he  sang  he  plucked  the  hair  from  the  buttocks  and  back  legs 
of  a  warrior  prostrate  on  the  ground,  assisted  by  a  man 
seated  on  the  other  side.  The  Kurelu  consider  all  body  hair 
unsightly  and  pick  ceaselessly  at  those  parts  of  one  another 
which  are  difficult  for  the  owner  of  the  hair  to  reach:  the 
plucking  of  backs,  like  the  neatening  of  beards  and  the 

122    • 


reciprocal  search  for  head  lice,  is  an  important  part  of  the 
etafs  morning  ritual.  Asok-meke,  too  cross  and  hairy  to  be 
bothered,  has  made  himself  an  exception:  he  has  strange 
little  tufts  Hke  black  woolly  lint  all  over  him.  Asok-meke 
sang  too,  in  a  kind  of  exasperated  groan,  and  even  the  man 
on  his  stomach  sang,  his  buttocks  rising  and  falling  with  the 
effort. 

The  singing  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  squalling  from 
the  women  of  Wuperainma.  The  wife  of  Tegearek  had  run 
away  and  was  at  this  moment  on  her  way  to  the  Siep-Kosi; 
she  could  not  have  been  popular  among  the  women,  who 
had  decided  to  betray  her. 

Her  path  led  behind  Homaklep  and  Abukumo  and  up 
into  the  mountains,  and  Tegearek  moved  without  haste  to 
cut  her  off.  He  dragged  her  back  to  Wuperainma,  where  he 
beat  her.  She  uttered  a  series  of  long,  pure  screams,  which 
rang  above  the  chant  of  etai,  but  the  screams  themselves 
were  largely  ritual,  part  of  her  shame  and  penance. 

Nilik  came  early  to  the  Liberek.  He  had  brought  with 
him  the  trophy  bundle;  there  were  seven  or  eight  fine  spears, 
some  bows  and  arrows,  a  cassowary  whisk,  and  a  small  grass 
packet  containing  the  tufts  of  Torobia's  hair.  The  "dead 
men"  were  kshed  to  a  pole  stuck  in  the  ground  at  the  head 
of  the  field,  and  Nilik  sat  beneath  them  at  the  fire,  in  the 
central  place.  He  wore  his  wig  of  ten  thousand  seeds,  red 
seeds  and  black,  and  over  the  wig  a  white  crown  of  egret 
feathers.  The  wig  flew  when  he  stood  up  to  shout,  and  when 
he  danced;  at  other  times  it  hung  forward  like  a  hood,  and 
his  eyes  peered  sharply  from  beneath  it. 

In  a  pause  in  the  dancing,  PoliFs  men — those  who  had 
killed  Torobia — came  to  the  fire  and  took  up  the  trophies. 
With  these  they  charged  to  the  center  of  the  field,  where 
the  trophies  were  held  aloft.  A  great  sighing  shout  arose, 

•     723 


and  the  men  rushed  back  again  in  a  close  avalanche  of  bodies, 
O-way-y-O. 

Polik  himself  was  present,  in  his  monumental  crown. 
He  was  smiling  his  strange  smile,  benign  and  absent-minded, 
but  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon  he  spoke  rapidly  and  fiercely 
to  Nilik,  apparently  disputing  the  "dead  men/'  Nilik  spoke 
fiercely  in  return,  and  at  the  end  of  the  dispute  he  moved 
to  the  pole  and  untied  the  trophies:  these  he  entrusted  to 
two  of  his  men,  then  wrenched  the  sapling  itself  out  of  the 
ground.  The  men  went  away  with  the  trophies,  and  Nilik 
stalked  behind  them,  the  sapling  on  his  shoulder,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  mountains. 


•  Ekapuwe  walked  up  and  down  the  sili  yard,  alone 

in  the  village  of  Lokoparek;  as  she  walked  she  sang  softly 
to  her  new  baby,  who  slept,  invisible,  far  down  in  the  bottom 
folds  of  her  empty  net.  The  net  was  a  new  one,  dyed  in  a 
red  and  blue  pattern.  Ekapuwe  was  restless,  and  her  walking 
served  to  rock  the  baby.  When  she  was  not  singing,  she 
would  smoke,  using  the  long  holder  which,  despite  her  bony 
feet  and  hanging  breasts,  gave  her  a  certain  elegance.  In 
the  distance,  under  the  cliff  wall,  some  Kosi-AIua  were 
cutting  wood,  and  the  tock  of  the  stone  adze  echoed  monot- 
onously across  the  forest. 

Before  long  the  sound  ceased,  for  war  had  been  called 
on  the  northwest  frontier,  and  the  woodsmen  had  departed. 
Husuk  had  come  that  morning  to  fetch  Wereklowe,  and 
some  other  warriors  had  gone  along.  U-mue  did  not  go:  he 
J24  m 


was  cutting  a  new  field  in  the  pandanus  forest  of  Lokoparek. 
To  break  the  silence,  Ekapuwe  yelled  at  her  husband,  but 
he  did  not  answer. 


•  Aku,  who  may  have  known  eight  springs,  and  her 
friends  Eken  of  Homaklep  and  Werekma,  the  pretty  daugh- 
ter of  Loliluk,  wandered  in  the  afternoon  onto  the  hillsides. 
Each  of  the  thin  children  picked  a  bouquet  of  bright  flowers, 
mostly  the  blossoms  of  the  yellow  rhododendron,  nektamuk, 
but  also  red  ginger,  eroaloali,  the  small  white  rhododendron, 
wamasi,  with  its  sweet  spicy  smell,  a  burmannia,  le,  which 
is  a  strange  pale  blue,  and  two  varieties  of  ground  orchid, 
one  small  and  purple,  the  other  large  and  brown  and  white 
and  lavender. 

The  girls  carried  their  flowers  for  a  little  while,  strolling 
down  through  the  coolness  of  the  evergreens  by  the  spring 
of  Homuak.  Above,  the  war  kains  sat  around  the  council 
fire,  against  the  wall  of  fern,  and  the  children  stood  apart, 
pressed  to  the  trees.  Small  bellies  and  behinds  sticking  out, 
the  flowers  clasped  in  hands  folded  neatly  on  their  skirts 
of  reed,  they  stared  at  the  fierce  old  men.  Word  had  come 
that  a  woman  of  the  enemy  had  drowned  in  the  Baliem. 
Women's  suicide  in  the  Baliem  occurs  from  time  to  time, 
but  the  cause  of  this  death  was  unknown.  The  death  of  a 
woman  was  not  the  same  as  the  death  of  a  man,  but  it  was 
glad  tidings  all  the  same. 

The  children  went  up  onto  the  hill  again.  They  did  not 
know  quite  why  they  had  picked  the  flowers,  which  were 

•     125 


of  no  use  or  consequence,  and,  looking  at  one  another,  they 
began  to  giggle,  putting  their  hands  into  their  mouths.  Then 
Aku  and  Eken  and  Werekma  picked  their  bouquets  to  pieces, 
and,  because  it  rained  during  that  night,  the  fallen  blossoms 
were  still  living  the  next  day. 


•  The  time  of  the  full  moon  is  past,  and  a  slow  rain 
has  come  again,  filling  the  valley  sky  with  pale  gray  clouds. 
With  the  rain's  return,  the  fresh  air  of  the  southeast  trades 
has  died  away,  and  the  yellow  gardenia  is  all  but  gone.  The 
Aike  River,  bony  with  derelict  trees  after  the  dry  spell,  is 
speckled  with  large  flocks  of  fledgling  ducks,  and  the  wood 
swallows,  their  nesting  done,  come  in  small  flocks  to  the 
araucarias. 

Weaklekek  and  his  wife  went  up  into  the  mountains, 
to  the  oak  forest  and  beyond,  in  search  of  fresh  lisanika 
leaves  for  his  tobacco.  Most  of  the  other  men  worked  in 
the  fields,  though  Tegearek,  glad  of  the  distraction,  spent 
much  of  the  morning  chasing  a  small  snake  up  and  down 
the  ditch  of  someone  else's  garden,  shouting  and  thrashing 
as  if  his  life  depended  on  it.  His  own  new  garden,  though 
begun  at  the  same  time,  has  fallen  far  behind  the  garden  of 
Werene, 

Ekali  of  Wuperainma  left  on  a  trading  journey  to  the 
Yali  people,  four  days  northeastward  of  the  valley;  he  and 
his  companions  carried  with  them  nets  and  stone  adzes  and 
will  return  within  a  fortnight  with  fine  bird  feathers. 

Ekali  took  the  mountain  trail  which  climbs  from  the 

72*    B 


valley  floor,  two  hours  away  in  the  northern  Kurelu;  it  con- 
tinues past  the  salt  wells  at  Iluerainma,  over  the  ridge,  and 
into  the  Pass  Valley,  and  from  there  in  a  three-day  journey 
to  the  Yali  Valley,  called  the  Yalimo.  The  Yalimo,  unlike 
the  Baliem — the  latter,  in  the  dimensions  of  its  broad,  level 
plain,  is  unique  in  all  the  highlands — is  steep  and  is  still 
forested;  therefore  the  Yali  peoples  have  remained  skilled 
hunters.  Shifting  agriculture  is  still  the  common  practice:  the 
gardens  are  less  expert  than  those  in  the  Baliem,  and  the 
pigs  fewer. 

The  Baliem  tribes  depend  on  the  Yali  peoples  for  cer- 
tain articles  which  have  vanished,  in  their  own  lands,  with 
the  destruction  of  the  forests.  The  Yali  supplies  the  great 
bulk  of  the  fine  decorative  feathers,  including  plumes  of  the 
various  birds  of  paradise.  The  furs  come  also  from  the  Yali: 
such  creatures  as  the  cuscus  and  tree  kangaroo,  whose  pelts 
adorn  the  crowns  and  armlets  and  horims,  are  now  so  scarce 
even  in  the  upper  forests  of  the  rim  that  only  one  old  man 
of  Sulaki  still  goes  in  the  nights  of  the  full  moon  to  hunt  them. 
Certain  woods  which  must  once  have  flourished  in  the  Baliem 
are  now  imported  from  the  Yali,  including  the  bial  wood  of 
the  beautiful  white  spears,  the  wio,  a  fine  dark  bow  wood, 
and  many  others.  The  handsome  spear  laurel,  though  it  still 
occurs  in  the  Baliem,  is  cut  as  fast  as  it  is  found;  it  will  soon 
vanish  from  the  cloud  forests  of  the  rim,  and  already  the  best 
laurel  spears  come  from  across  the  mountains. 

In  exchange  for  articles  of  feathers,  fur,  and  wood,  the 
Kurelu  bring  stone  adzes,  shell  goods,  pigs,  and  woven  articles. 
Yeke  Asuk  only  quite  recently  has  acquired  from  the  Yali 
people  an  opossum  crown  and  a  fine  spear  sapling  in  ex- 
change for  an  adze  and  other  articles;  the  fur  alone  required 
an  adze  in  payment.  The  green  and  black  stone  of  the  adzes, 
used  also  in  the  holy  stones,  does  not  come  from  the  Baliem, 

•     127 


where  it  is  unknown;  it  arrives  there  by  an  obscure  set  of 
trade  routes,  probably  over  the  mountains  from  the  east- 
ward, and  may  well  originate  some  hundreds  of  miles  and 
many  years  away,  in  the  far  volcanic  ranges  of  Papua.  The 
shells,  in  turn,  pass  along  from  tribe  to  tribe,  over  trade 
routes  from  the  southern  coast;  the  coast  is  far  away,  beyond 
the  experience  of  the  akuni,  who  have  no  comprehension  of 
the  sea.  The  shells  are  the  chief  medium  of  exchange  and 
travel  endlessly,  in  a  series  of  slow  transfers,  pausing  in  a 
pilai  here,  a  shell  belt  there,  for  a  month,  a  decade,  or  a 
century,  only  to  pass  onward  from  brown  hand  to  hand. 


•  Uwar  and  Kabilek  are  expert  at  a  game  called 
sikoko,  which  is  played  with  rattan  hoops  and  small  cane 
spears;  the  boys  keep  their  own  hoops  among  their  few 
possessions  in  the  pilai.  Though  games  are  numerous,  toys 
kept  by  the  children  from  one  day  to  the  next  are  few.  They 
include  a  bull-roarer — a  slat  of  wood  on  the  end  of  a  string, 
which  produces,  when  whirled,  a  loud  hollow  noise — a  simple 
swing  in  which  a  vine  is  lashed  to  the  middle  of  a  board, 
and  the  krge  purple  bulb  of  the  banana  tree,  also  on  a  string: 
the  latter  may  be  twirled  in  the  air  below  the  hand  or  towed 
on  the  ground  behind,  a  technique  favored  by  Uwar's  small 
round  brother,  Natorek. 

The  rules  of  sikoko  are  simple,  but  the  game  is  difficult. 
One  boy  rolls  the  hoops  one  after  another  across  a  length 
of  ground,  and,  as  they  pass,  the  other  must  hurl  the  spears 
through  them  in  such  a  way  that  the  spear  sticks  into  the 

726    • 


ground  with  the  hoop  spinning  on  it.  The  hoops  are  hurled 
at  full  force,  so  that  they  bounce  high  and  erratically  as  they 
go,  but  even  so,  the  boys  do  not  miss  often.  Unlike  most 
other  yegerek,  who  crowd  the  hoop  and  try  to  punch  the 
spear  through  at  the  last  second,  Uwar  and  Kabilek  keep  a 
distance  and  impale  the  hoop  with  a  whipping  sidearm 
throw:  Uwar  is  the  only  boy  who  is  left-handed.  Some- 
times they  bounce  the  hoops  over  the  araucaria  roots 
at  Homuak,  and  sometimes  they  play  on  a  downhill  path 
below  Wuperainma;  at  these  times  they  are  watched  by 
Natorek  and  Oluma,  who  work  as  a  pair  under  the  direction 
of  the  former.  Both  little  boys  are  fat  and  strong  and  truculent 
— at  three,  they  are  as  old  as  fat  men  ever  get  among  the 
akuni — and  do  everything  not  only  together  but  simultane- 
ously. Today,  when  Natorek  marched  into  the  weeds  and 
squatted,  Oluma  took  up  a  position  right  beside  him;  shoul- 
der to  shoulder,  they  relieved  their  small  bodies  in  unison, 
neat  and  quick  as  birds,  the  pair  of  heads  glaring  balefully 
at  the  world  across  the  grass  tops. 

The  nostrils  and  upper  lips  of  both  Oluma  and  Natorek, 
like  those  of  almost  all  the  children  and  a  number  of  adults 
as  well,  are  chronically  encrusted  with  dried  mucus — the 
symptom  of  the  one  common  ailment,  a  respiratory  infection, 
in  an  otherwise  strong,  healthy,  and  clear-skinned  people. 
Suspended  mucus,  rising  and  falling  casually,  is  a  feature  of 
the  akuni  face,  since  hawking  and  spitting  and  blowing  the 
nose  are  considered  very  rude. 

Unlike  Oluma  and  Natorek,  Uwar  and  Kabilek  are  beau- 
tiful, in  the  large-eyed,  carved-featured  way  of  certain  akuni, 
though  the  wild  brightness  in  Uwar's  face  is  replaced,  in 
Kabilek,  by  wistful  sadness;  Kabilek  appears  to  long  for  some- 
thing he  will  never  know. 

As  the  only  yegerek  in  U-mue's  sili,  Uwar  and  Kabilek 


are  together  often,  but  they  are  in  no  way  alike  and  could 
not  really  be  called  friends.  Each  time  they  play  sikoko  the 
game  ends  uncomfortably,  for  while  Kabilek  is  gentle  and 
resigned,  Uwar  burns  with  a  quiet  ferocity  and  works  him- 
self to  a  pitch  of  intensity  in  which,  smiling  still  in  a  cold, 
glittering  way,  he  contrives  to  disrupt  the  game.  He  hurls 
the  hoops  when  Kabilek  is  not  ready,  or  plays  carelessly, 
in  languid  contempt,  and  finally  he  may  hurl  the  hoop  at 
his  opponent  or  at  one  of  the  children  looking  on.  At  these 
moments  he  is  beside  himself,  there  is  no  real  communica- 
tion with  him.  The  other  children,  and  the  adults  as  well, 
greet  Uwar  with  deference,  for  he  is  quite  exceptional,  but 
he  is  not  well  liked.  Uwar  was  born  to  lead  and  has  small 
need  for  friendship. 

Uwar  is  named  for  the  Uwar  River,  which  flows  through 
the  land  of  the  Siep-Kosi,  where  he  was  born;  later  his  mother 
came  to  the  land  of  the  Kurelu  and  married  Loliluk.  The 
latter  is  deceptive  in  appearance,  a  small  timid-looking  man 
in  an  old  brown  head  net,  puttering  about  the  sili.  Loliluk 
never  wears  shells  or  feathers  and  moves  quietly.  Neverthe- 
less, he  is  said  to  have  killed  five,  two  of  these  on  the  occasion 
on  which  he  received  his  present  name.  The  name,  which 
means  "Bones  Ungathered,"  commemorates  the  day  when, 
a  daughter  having  died,  he  rushed  away  into  the  mountains 
even  before  the  funeral  was  finished  and  there,  in  a  region 
beyond  Lokoparek,  then  in  enemy  territory,  killed  two  people 
in  a  fit  of  grief. 

Ekali,  father  of  Kabilek,  is  also  deceptive  in  appearance. 
He  is  a  tall  man  with  a  strong  voice,  strong  face,  but  in  fact 
he  is  uncertain  of  himself,  afraid  in  war,  yet  unresigned  to 
his  own  fear,  a  blusterer.  At  one  time  Ekali  moved  away 
to  the  Siep-Kosi,  where  in  one  way  or  another  he  made  him- 
self so  unpopular  that  he  was  called  Lan-i — "Go  There/'  in 

730    • 


the  sense  of  "Go  on  Back  to  Your  Own  People."  His  new 
name,  awarded  since  his  return,  describes  the  reaction  of 
his  young  wife  to  his  habit  of  gobbling  up  the  best  bits  of 
food  before  the  food  leaves  the  cooking  shed,  rather  than 
sharing  it  in  the  pilai  with  the  other  men;  Ekali  means 
"Shame." 

Though  Ekali  is  intelligent,  and  has  gained  a  certain 
wealth  in  pigs  as  a  result  of  trading  journeys  to  the  Yali 
people,  his  ambiguous  reputation  may  put  his  son  Kabilek 
at  a  disadvantage  in  regard  to  Uwar. 


13  I 


•  Yesterday  the  Wittaia  asked  for  war,  but  the 
Kurelu,  anxious  to  work  their  fields,  refused  it.  Today  the 
enemy  staged  a  garden  raid,  to  revenge  the  one  in  which 
Huwai  had  been  killed.  By  midday  a  large  party  of  them  had 
crept  to  the  belt  of  woods  which  separates  U-mue's  kaio 
from  the  Tokolik.  Women  were  scattered  through  the  fields, 
but  none  came  near  the  ambush  point.  In  the  late  after- 
noon, exasperated,  the  Wittaia  rushed  out  and  set  fire  to 
U-mue's  shelter,  then  retired  to  the  Tokolik.  Their  jeering 
howl  was  answered  by  the  Kurelu,  and  warriors  ran  for  the 
frontier;  U-mue  himself  was  at  Homuak  and  at  the  first  alarm 
leapt  to  his  feet,  screeching  maniacally.  Somehow  he  had 
grasped  from  the  discordant  shouts  that  the  shelter  was  his 
own,  for  the  prospect  of  battle  does  not  ordinarily  excite 
him;  he  ran  off  to  fetch  his  spear.  Others  were  already  on 
their  way.  The  young  warriors  ran  in  files  along  the  paths 
among  the  purple  sweet  potatoes,  among  them  Yeke  Asuk, 
whose  pale  brown  form  among  the  dark  bodies  of  the  other 
men  was  luminous  in  the  failing  light. 

An  audience  of  yegerek  scrambled  up  the  grassy  slope 
behind  the  araucarias.  Tukum,  on  the  way,  was  stung  on 
the  foot  by  a  bee.  He  sat  down  on  a  rock  like  a  sad  troll  and 
clutched  at  the  foot.  Behind  him,  Uwar  located  the  small  bee- 
hive in  the  grass:  it  was  gray  and  papery  and  had  white 
larvae  in  it  Without  giving  a  bite  to  its  discoverer,  Uwar 
popped  the  hive  into  his  mouth  and  ate  it,  rubbing  his  stomach 
in  satisfaction. 

Against  the  dusk  the  fire  plume  of  the  burning  shelter 
was  bright,  and  its  white  smoke  rose  toward  the  wreath  of 
cloud  at  the  peak  of  Arolik. 

132    * 


The  warriors  picked  their  way  uneasily  through  the 
wood  toward  the  Tokolik;  they  knew  that  the  reeds  might 
conceal  the  waiting  enemy.  A  mokoko  heron  rose  like  a  gray 
shade,  venting  its  grim  croak,  as  other  men  came  on  from 
the  Liberek.  Fighting  broke  out  immediately,  to  fierce  howl- 
ing, and  from  the  distance  the  white  feathers  could  be  seen 
between  the  trees,  spinning  disembodied  in  the  gathering 
darkness.  There  were  nearly  one  hundred  Wittaia,  and  though 
the  skirmish  lasted  but  a  few  minutes,  they  wounded  four  of 
the  outnumbered  Kurelu.  At  dark  both  sides  withdrew,  for 
dark  is  the  hour  of  the  ghosts;  the  Wittaia  built  a  high,  bright 
fire  at  the  east  end  of  the  Tokolik  but  deserted  it  after  a 
short  while  and  continued  homeward. 

The  man  of  the  Kosi-Alua  speared  in  the  last  moon  by 
Tegearek  and  Yeke  Asuk  was  speared  again,  this  time  along 
the  side  of  his  neck.  Yeke  Asuk,  fighting  nearby,  was  arrowed 
in  the  back.  The  arrow  was  removed  by  Aloro,  but  a  short 
time  later  Aloro  himself  was  wounded  in  the  front  part  of 
his  thigh.  Aloro  is  wounded  more  often  than  any  other  war- 
rior, not  because  he  is  careless  or  reckless  but  because  he 
never  leaves  the  battle  line.  One  day  he  will  be  wounded 
mortally. 

Two  days  later  the  Wittaia  appeared  in  battle  array 
again,  having  moved  boldly  to  the  wooded  strip  between 
the  Tokolik  and  the  shell  of  U-mue?s  shelter.  Again  the 
Kurelu  went  out  to  meet  them,  though  not  nearly  nu- 
merous enough  to  fight.  They  gathered  watchfully  at  the 
end  of  the  Tokolik,  while  opposite  them  several  hundred 
of  the  enemy  massed  in  ranks.  Weaklekek,  Asikanalek,  and 
Husuk  circled  apprehensively  among  the  few  young  war- 
riors who  moved  out  to  face  the  taunting  party  of  Wittaia; 
more  Wittaia  lined  the  Waraba.  A  brief  skirmish  took  place 
in  which  Husuk  threw  and  lost  his  fine  dark  spear;  annoyed, 
he  walked  around  in  the  front  line  without  a  weapon,  hands 

•     133 


folded  behind  his  back.  Plainly  the  Kurelu  were  waiting  for 
the  rain,  which  swept  in  dense  palls  along  the  northeast 
mountains;  the  men  gave  way  in  spite  of  Maitmo,  who  ran 
forward  to  rally  them,  screeching  with  his  usual  belligerence. 

A  party  of  Wittaia  had  crept  through  the  swamp  from 
the  Waraba  and  appeared  suddenly  on  the  flank;  a  roar 
broke  out,  and  the  Kurelu  fled.  The  Wittaia  did  not  press 
them.  Light  airs  from  the  west  swung  around  and  freshened, 
bearing  the  rain  out  of  the  north;  the  north  wind  is  a  rare 
cold  wind,  and  both  tribes  withdrew,  hugging  their  shoulders. 

Asukwan  of  Homaklep  returned  by  way  of  Homuak. 
Like  a  little  boy,  using  excited  jabbing  motions,  he  described 
to  foolish  Woknabin  his  own  deeds  of  heroism.  Woknabin, 
still  lame  from  two  arrow  wounds  suffered  on  the  Tokolik, 
listened  to  Asukwan's  tale  with  awe.  Woknabin  is  a  huge 
kindly  man,  blind  in  one  eye  and  simple;  he  is  a  brave  war- 
rior and  a  poor  one.  Woknabin's  name  was  given  in  child- 
hood; he  was  terrified,  each  time  his  mother  left  the  sili, 
that  she  would  go  away  from  him  forever.  His  name,  which 
suits  the  sad  entreaty  in  his  face,  means  "Take  Me  with 
You." 


•  The  arrow  which  struck  Yeke  Asuk  entered  near 
his  right  shoulder  blade  and  penetrated  toward  the  center 
of  his  chest,  causing  injury  to  the  etai-eken — literally,  the 
"seed  of  singing" — the  life  energy,  the  soul.  The  etai-eken, 
which  occurs  near  the  region  of  the  diaphragm,  varies  in 
size  according  to  the  spiritual  progress  of  each  person,  but 
it  is  always  present  except  in  smallest  infants.  Pigs  also 
have  etai-eken,  but  dogs  and  other  animals  have  none. 

134     • 


The  belly  of  Yeke  Asuk  was  cut  with  a  bamboo  knife 
in  several  places  to  drain  off  the  "black  blood,"  and  the 
vein  of  his  arm  punctured  with  a  pig-bone  needle,  after 
which  he  was  bound  up  tightly  in  a  poultice  of  taro  leaves. 
He  slept  well  but  this  morning  was  in  severe  pain.  He  was 
helped  down  from  the  sleeping  loft,  and  many  men  came 
to  see  him.  Tuesike  helped  Yeke  Asuk  to  a  sitting  position 
and,  with  loud  Huonke,  applied  wet  leaves  of  hiperi  to  the 
arrow  hole  and  to  the  bleeding  wound,  binding  him  tight 
again  with  gleaming  purple  strips  of  fresh  banana  leaf.  Yeke 
Asuk's  wound  is  serious,  but  not  serious  enough  to  justify 
the  catching  and  killing  of  small  animals. 

Outside,  squatting  in  the  smoke  of  a  yard  fire,  U-mue 
made  fetishes  for  his  brother.  Yeke  Asuk  was  not  well 
enough  to  come  out,  and  Uwar  and  Kabilek,  each  holding 
a  fetish  high  in  the  air,  ran  back  and  forth  before  the  en- 
trance of  the  pilai.  Then  they  fled  away  down  the  yard, 
holding  the  canes  high  between  them  in  a  kind  of  arch. 
Both  fetishes  were  planted  outside  the  village,  by  the  paths 
leading  toward  Wittaia  land.  Like  the  fetish  made  for 
Tuesike,  they  were  intended  to  warn  away  unfriendly  spirits. 

The  women's  life,  and  that  of  the  pigs  and  children, 
trudged  ahead.  Hiperi  and  toa,  a  large  succulent  grass,  were 
cooking  in  the  shed,  and  the  smoke  rose  through  the  dark 
wet  straw  the  whole  length  of  the  roof.  Ekapuwe  had  come 
down  the  night  before  from  Lokoparek  and  was  greeting  the 
visitors  in  a  cheery  manner.  Holake,  a  little  girl  with  rusty 
rag-doll  hair,  stood  pigeon-toed  and  proud,  hands  clasped 
tightly  on  the  headband  of  her  net;  in  the  net  was  Ekapuwe's 
new  baby.  From  time  to  time  Holake  walked  it  up  and  down 
the  yard,  and  the  invisible  child,  which  has  passed  most 
of  its  life  to  date  within  the  net,  murmured  contentedly,  a 
pale  finger  poking  outward  toward  the  sun  like  a  small 
tendril.  Beside  Holake  marched  her  small  fat  brother  Oluma, 

•     135 


who  is  Natorek's  friend  and  double.  Holake  and  Oluma  are 
the  children  of  Wereklowe;  their  mother  came  long  ago 
to  live  in  U-mue's  sili,  because  of  excessive  beatings  admin- 
istered by  her  husband.  The  mother  looks  older  than  she  is, 
but  at  moments  she  smiles  the  same  shy  merry  smile  as  her 
ragtag  little  girl.  Though  she  is  said  to  be  the  woman  of 
Yeke  Asuk,  she  did  not  seem  in  the  least  upset  about  her 
lover's  peril. 

A  yellow  hog  barged  forth  from  the  gourd  garden.  It 
snuffed,  tail  wagging,  among  the  vegetable  skins  and  husks 
cast  out  before  the  pilai  and  consumed  a  discarded  butt 
of  sweet  potato  with  loud,  chopping  relish,  contemptuous 
of  all  the  world  beyond  its  mouth.  As  it  ate,  it  cocked  a  small 
evil  eye,  more  like  a  sore,  on  guard  against  the  man  or  pig 
who  might  attempt  to  interfere  with  its  ingestion. 

Some  large  hiperi  were  handed  from  the  cooking  shed, 
and  the  men  returned  into  the  pilai  to  consume  them.  Polik 
had  come  and  took  advantage  of  the  visit  to  appraise  a 
fine  cowrie  belt;  he  stretched  it  around  the  fireplace.  In  the 
corner  Hanumoak,  reaching  for  his  shell  bib  hanging  on  the 
wall,  saw  the  larger  bib  which  belongs  to  Yeke  Asuk  and 
tried  it  on.  He  was  watched  by  Huonke,  who,  caught  watch- 
ing, smiled  his  furtive  smile,  and  Hanumoak  returned  the 
smile,  though  coldly.  He  removed  the  shell  bib  of  the  wounded 
man  and  tied  on  his  own. 


•  One  afternoon  Weaklekek  obtained  a  fine  small 
pig.  Pigs  are  normally  not  eaten  without  ceremonial  reason, 
but  a  reason  was  found,  as  it  often  is,  and  in  the  afternoon 

136    m 


Weaklekek  drove  an  arrow  into  the  pig's  lungs.  The  pig 
ran  squalling  around  the  yard,  but  in  a  little  while  it  was 
caught  again,  and  Palek  stood  with  his  foot  upon  it  until 
it  died. 

Weaklekek  singed  the  pig  on  a  fire  in  the  cooking  shed. 
He  dressed  it  out,  with  the  help  of  Asok-meke,  on  a  bed  of 
fern,  cutting  it  up  with  a  bamboo  knife  and  a  small  stone 
adze.  Asok-meke  drew  the  tripes  out  from  the  viscera  and 
handed  them  to  the  boy  Supuk,  who  took  them  to  the  stream 
to  wash  them. 

Weaklekek's  wife  Lakaloklek,  farther  down  the  long 
hall  of  the  shed,  had  built  a  large  fire  to  heat  rocks.  Laka- 
loklek's  old  mother  sat  alone  in  the  dense  smoke  like  a 
brown  bundle,  as  if,  after  so  many  years,  smoke  had  replaced 
air  as  her  natural  element;  she  watched  the  dressing  of  the 
pig  with  the  slack  avidity  of  old  age.  The  women  were 
joined  by  Weaklekek's  youngest  wife,  just  in  from  the  fields; 
she  swung  her  nets  of  gourds  and  hiperi  into  the  corner. 
She  also  swung  down  her  daughter,  placing  her  next  to  the 
old  woman.  The  little  girl  is  the  favorite  of  Weaklekek  and 
wears  two  pretty  cowries  and  a  string  of  snails.  The  old 
woman  stroked  the  child  and  showed  to  it  a  baby  piglet 
which  she  carried  with  her  in  her  own  bottomless  net.  Then 
the  young  wife,  returning,  took  the  baby  from  her.  While 
the  child  sucked  at  her  breast,  the  mother  smoked,  using 
the  long  holder;  her  chin  rested  on  the  baby's  head. 

Supuk  returned,  bringing  the  tripe,  but  Lakaloklek  sent 
him  out  again  to  put  the  pigs  into  their  stalls;  the  child  went 
promptly,  without  grumbling.  Lakaloklek  and  the  young 
wife,  with  the  mother  of  Supuk,  were  whirling  like  three 
witches  in  the  smoke,  hair  and  breasts  flying:  they  took  up 
the  heated  stones  with  long  stick  tongs  and  placed  them 
in  the  pit. 

Lakaloklek  is  elfin  and  pretty  in  appearance,  though 

•     T37 


she  wears  a  smear  of  black  grease  across  her  face  and  her 
hair  hangs  down  across  her  eyes.  She  is  gay  and  quick  in 
all  her  movements,  in  no  way  oppressed  by  her  woman's  life. 
Supuk's  mother  is  a  big  woman  with  the  plaintive  jollity  of 
middle  years,  and  the  young  wife,  who  can't  yet  be  fifteen, 
is  graceful  and  big-breasted,  complete  in  the  thick  torpid 
way  of  a  fleshy,  unopened  flower.  From  the  inferno  of  the 
smoke,  the  three  women  laughed. 

Originally  this  young  wife  was  to  have  married  Supuk's 
father,  but,  arriving  in  the  sili  for  the  first  time,  she  fell  in 
love  immediately  with  Weaklekek;  when  she  refused  to  go 
to  Palek,  Weaklekek  accepted  her  philosophically  into  his 
household.  Palek,  having  small  choice  in  the  matter,  was 
philosophical  about  it  also. 

Palek's  son  Wamatue  appeared,  a  diminutive  boy  with 
red  hair;  the  red  hair,  of  a  deep  rust  color,  is  typical  of  the 
children  and  glows  like  a  halo  on  their  dark  heads  when 
the  sun  is  low,  toward  twilight.  Wamatue  wore  fern  brace- 
lets on  his  wrists,  and  a  miniature  horim.  The  horim  was  the 
diameter  of  an  arrow,  too  small  even  for  Wamatue;  it  hung 
in  a  token  way  in  the  area  of  his  navel.  Wamatue  is  a  shy 
sort  of  creature  and  stood  camouflaged  in  the  brown  shadows 
by  the  entrance,  thinking  long  thoughts,  but  finally  his  pres- 
ence was  remarked  upon,  and  he  came  forward. 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  pig  steamed  with  fine  redolence, 
and  in  this  time  the  chortling  of  the  honey  eaters  in  the 
casuarina  trees  around  the  village  gave  way  to  the  rigid 
twilight  chant  of  huge  cicadas.  Weaklekek  sat  off  to  one 
side,  holding  his  baby  daughter  on  his  lap;  he  squeezed  her 
in  inarticulate  delight,  and  once  he  placed  his  lips  against 
her  head  in  a  sort  of  mute  instinctive  kiss.  Weaklekek  is 
ashamed  of  nothing,,  and  the  great  life  in  him  shines  out- 
ward, with  nothing  withheld  behind  the  eyes. 

Asukwan,  lank  and  indolent,  arrived  in  time  to  help 

138    • 


take  the  browned  thatch  from  the  fire.  When  this  was  done 
he  sat  down  to  one  side  to  await  his  dinner.  Wamatue  sat 
next  to  him,  shoulder  to  shouldera  and  Asukwan  punched  the 
little  boy  playfully  on  the  back.  Wamatue  cried  out,  seeking 
attention  from  his  mother.  His  mother  did  not  bother  with 
him,,  and  he  stopped. 

The  food  was  laid  on  fresh  banana  fronds:  except  for 
the  sliver  knife  of  bamboo  and  a  concave  length  of  bark 
which  serves  as  a  sort  of  tray  for  discarded  scraps,  there 
are  no  utensils  of  any  kind.  Though  clays  of  several  colors 
are  common  in  the  valley,  the  art  of  pottery  has  not  been 
learned;  the  people  are  content  with  their  string  nets,  leaf 
packets,  and  small  water  gourds. 

Stern  Asok-ineke,  the  guest,  divided  up  the  meat.  The 
men  were  given  the  best  pieces,  while  the  women,  sitting 
separately  in  the  darkness,  were  passed  a  few  poor  scraps. 
The  tripes  Asok-meke  slung  disdainfully  at  the  yegerek,  who 
also  ate  some  of  the  bloodied  ferns  used  in  the  cooking:  all 
the  household  consumed  hiperi  and  toa  and  the  spinach-like 
leaves  of  mallow,  eaten  with  gray  salt  from  the  wells  at 
Iluerainma:  the  precious  salt  was  sprinkled  carefully  from 
a  long  tube  of  banana  leaf.  They  ate  in  silence,  without  greed 
or  haste. 

When  the  men  had  retired  to  the  pilai,  and  the  women 
to  the  huts  across  the  way,  LakaloHek  remained  seated  by 
the  embers,  weaving  a  new  net;  the  fiber  stretched  in  a  long 
band  from  her  stump  fingers  to  her  toes,  vibrated  by  old 
rhythms  of  her  hands.  As  she  worked  she  hummed  and  smiled, 
at  peace  in  her  own  world.  But  soon  she  too  retired,  and  the 
fire  died. 

The  sky  of  night  was  high  with  stars  shining  on 
other  centuries  beyond  the  mountains.  This  was  the  time  of 
the  night  feeding,  the  nocturnal  animals,  creeping  forth  in 
the  last  flickers  of  man's  embers.  In  the  shed  rats  and  mice 

•     139 


came  from  the  walls  with  their  tight  squeakings,  and  bats 
on  fingered  wings  flopped  to  the  village — the  tiny  twilight 
bat,  with  its  high  ascending  shriek,  and  the  flying  fox,  which 
did  not  cry  but  sounded  its  coming  with  the  quaking  flaps 
of  five-foot  wings.  The  bats  circled  beneath  the  stars,  in 
the  ringing  of  the  tree  frogs  and  the  crickets.  In  the  light 
wind  of  night  weather,  the  banana  fronds  stirred  with  a 
loud,  lonely  clacking,  and  the  great  dog-faced  bats  pumped 
back  and  forth,  thump,  thump-thump,  thump,  to  their  rude 
landings  on  the  hanging  fruit. 

As  the  night  grew,  the  feeding  hour  declined,  and  cold 
descended  from  the  mountains;  the  bats  vanished,  and  the 
rodents  withdrew  to  their  dank  passages.  Even  the  mosquitoes 
sought  their  comers,  to  shrivel  in  the  dim,  dry  sleep  of  insects. 

The  soft  voices  in  the  pilai  died,  and  Weaklekek  came 
out  alone,  to  visit  Lakaloklek  in  her  ebeai.  The  earth  turned 
beneath  the  stars,  and  Weaklekek  cried  out  in  the  night,  a 
pure,  sweet  cry  of  pain,  and  all  was  quiet. 

The  nightjar,  done  with  its  wide-mouthed  hunt  for  in- 
sects, grunted  digestively  in  the  black  evergreens.  Slowly 
it  began  its  hollow,  metronomic  tok,  tok  .  .  .  tok,  and  the 
sound  wore  away  the  night.  Weaklekek  came  from  the  ebeai 
and  went  into  the  cooking  shed,  where  he  drew  a  fire  from 
the  straw  to  warm  himself  and  smoke.  With  his  fingers  he 
worked  his  swollen  calf  where  an  arrow  tip,  broken  off,  was 
deep  embedded.  Of  late  this  old  wound  had  given  him  much 
pain. 

At  first  light  a  dusky  green  emerged  slowly  from  the 
gray,  and  the  surrounding  woods  took  shape.  Somewhere, 
on  a  limb,  the  nightjar  ruffled  its  loose  feathers  and  blinked 
its  yellow  eye;  camouflaged  like  a  great  moth,  it  would  grow 
into  the  wood  until  night  came  again.  Its  place  was  taken 
by  the  honey  eater,  for  this  was  the  morning-of-bird-voices. 

Weaklekek,  at  his  small  fire,  sighed.  He  squatted  there 
immobile,  his  silhouette  like  a  statue  of  black  igneous  rock 

740    * 


against  the  transient  flickering  on  the  walls.  A  woman  came, 
and  they  spoke  gently  to  each  other,  but  she  moved  off  to 
her  own  shadows  and  built  up  her  own  fire.  When  it  flamed, 
she  took  sweet  potatoes  from  a  net  slumped  by  the  wall  and 
stacked  them  against  the  embers. 

A  mountain  pigeon  called,  and  day  appeared. 


•  Tukum,  that  morning,  found  a  bird's  nest  in  a 

pink-flowered  myrtle  tree.  The  nest  was  a  miniature  cup 
of  soft  grass,  circled  around  with  bright  green  sphagnum 
moss.  There  were  two  tiny  birds  in  it,  olive  and  yellow,  and, 
though  they  had  never  done  so  before  Tukum  found  them, 
they  could  be  made  to  flutter  for  short  distances. 

Tukum  carried  the  nest  about  all  morning,  making  the 
little  birds  fly;  they  would  buzz  along  on  a  downward  angle, 
careening  inevitably  into  the  ground.  The  birds  delighted 
Tukum,  who  talked  to  them  and  encouraged  them,  but  he 
had  no  recognition  of  his  feeling,  any  more  than  Aku  and 
Eken  and  Werekma  had  understood  why  they  had  picked 
their  flowers.  Late  in  the  day  he  would  take  them  home  and 
eat  them. 

•     T47 


•  High  in  the  dark  cloud  forests  of  the  upper  Elo- 
kera  stands  a  huge  beech,  and  high  in  this  tree  hangs  a 
ponderous  nest  o£  the  great  black  hawk.  Weaklekek  wished 
to  obtain  this  hawk,  the  feathers  of  which  are  valuable,  and 
he  set  off  with  his  bow  and  arrow  to  investigate  the  nest, 
the  news  of  which  had  spread  down  to  the  valley.  With  him 
he  took  Asukwan,  the  young  warrior  of  his  pilai,  who  is 
credited  with  a  sense  of  birds  and  a  keen  eye.  They  were 
accompanied  by  Tukum,  who  is  credited  with  almost  nothing. 

The  three  went  up  the  valley  along  the  stream  bed  of 
a  tributary,  wading  the  quiet  pools  under  the  banks  and 
leaping  from  rock  to  mossy  rock;  honey  eaters  and  birds  of 
paradise  shrieked  at  their  passing,  and  mountain  pigeons, 
veering  off,  broke  the  humid  airs  with  the  sharp  clap  of 
pigeon  wings.  Farther  on,  they  took  to  high  ground,  cross- 
ing abandoned  fields;  in  the  hillside  woods  small  flocks  of 
parakeets,  red  under  wing,  criss-crossed  the  treetops  in  loud 
senseless  consternation. 

At  a  place  along  the  trail  the  grass  was  crushed  and 
flattened;  Asukwan  laughed.  He  poked  the  forefinger  of  one 
hand  back  and  forth  between  the  second  and  third  fingers 
of  the  other,  and  Weaklekek  grinned.  Tukum,  embarrassed, 
grinned  as  well. 

In  the  forest  of  the  upper  slopes,  with  its  black  mud 
and  thorned  rattan,  its  hanging  shapes  and  gloom,  the  pale 
clear  boles  of  the  canopy  trees  soared  to  crests  which  closed 
away  the  sky;  the  trail  crossed  sagging  pig  fences,  and  hidden 
animals  grunted  hollowly  from  the  shadows  of  these  dark 
pastures.  The  trail  skirted  dismal  wells  where  the  limestone 
had  caved  in;  one  well  was  a  hundred  feet  or  more  in  depth, 
and  strongly  fenced  around,  though  the  fence  was  water- 

142    m 


logged  and  rotten.  Asukwan  tossed  a  stone  into  the  well, 
and  the  three  exclaimed  at  the  time  which  passed  before 
the  splash  resounded.  Lagging  behind,  Tukum  tossed  an- 
other stone,  but  this  time  a  sound  came  back  immediately, 
for  Tukum's  stone,  barely  clearing  the  edge,  had  fallen  on 
a  ledge  inside  the  rim.  Tukum  glared  balefully  at  the  well 
and  trotted  onward. 

Farther  still,  in  a  steep  clearing,  lay  a  new  pig  village, 
perched  on  a  ledge  of  mud.  Here  miniature  blue  butterflies 
fluttered  like  gentian  petals,  alighting  as  one  on  the  mud's 
black  gleam  and  all  but  vanishing,  for  with  closed  wings 
they  were  nothing  more  than  small  scraps  of  drab  gray.  Then 
the  blue  color  would  explode  again  as  the  butterflies  danced 
in  their  odd  motion.  Tukum  laughed,  pronouncing  their  apt 
name — sigisigit. 

At  the  village  a  man  joined  them,  and  the  four  went 
on  to  the  high  forest  above.  A  black  hawk  soared  in  the 
gray  cloud  which  hung  upon  the  forest,  and  Weaklekek 
whispered  at  it,  making  gestures,  in  order  that  it  circle 
lower.  But  the  hawk  slid  off  and  disappeared,  and  its  nest, 
when  they  came  to  the  base  of  the  tree,  had  no  bird  at  its 
edge.  Weaklekek  crept  higher  on  the  slope  but  could  not 
attain  the  nest  level.  After  a  while  he  came  down  again  and, 
on  the  way  home,  out  of  frustration,  wasted  an  old  arrow 
in  a  shot  at  one  of  the  green  parakeets. 


•  The  season  turned,  and  the  night  was  clear  and 
cold.  The  akuni  kept  to  their  warm  huts  until  the  morning 
was  well  started,  and  out  in  the  crisp  air  built  high  brush 

•     143 


fires.  The  brush  was  of  dead  sticks  and  dry  brown  leaves, 
and  around  a  large  fire  built  under  the  pines  the  air  sparkled 
with  autumn;  light  filtered  down  in  long  delicate  columns 
onto  the  fallen  needles.  But  in  the  undergrowth  just  at  the 
wood  edge  the  sun  was  hot,  and  the  bushes  flowered  in  the 
rich  green  of  the  valley's  ceaseless  spring. 

Once  or  twice  a  year,  depending  on  its  current  fortunes, 
a  clan  will  hold  a  ceremony  which  renews  the  power  of  the 
holy  stones  and  invigorates  and  protects  in  battle  the  war- 
riors of  the  clan  that  holds  the  stones:  the  cleaning  of  the 
stones  with  grease  of  ceremonial  pig,  warn  wisa,  is  the  most 
sacred  of  all  rituals  practiced  by  the  akuni. 

In  early  June  a  stone  ceremony  was  held  by  the  clan 
Wilil,  in  the  small  village  which  adjoins  Abulopak.  Because 
this  place  is  more  safely  located  than  Wuperainma,  which 
lies  close  to  the  frontier,  the  ancestral  stones  are  still  main- 
tained there.  They  are  entrusted  to  the  care  of  big  Woknabin, 
the  only  Wilil  warrior  left  in  the  pilai 

As  political  kain  of  the  southern  Wilil,  the  man  most 
important  in  the  ceremony  is  U-mue.  He  came  to  the  sili 
in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  bringing  three  of  the  pigs 
that  would  be  slaughtered.  He  was  accompanied  by  Weak- 
lekek,  and  on  the  way  past  Abulopak  he  stopped  by  to  in- 
vite Wereklowe  and  Polik.  None  of  these  men  are  Wilil, 
but  the  feast  is  attended  by  kains,  relatives,  leading  warriors, 
and  boys  of  all  the  other  clans,  depending  upon  their  sig- 
nificance and  kinship. 

Other  Wilil  were  arriving  at  the  sili,  and  a  period  of 
greeting  and  singing  began,  in  which  a  crying  takes  place 
very  like  the  windy  sound  of  mourning.  The  crying  lasted 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes  and  was  followed  by  excited  chatter: 
this  part  of  the  ceremony  is  designed  to  bury  feuds  or  ill 
feeling  within  the  clan  itself,  and  to  restore  an  atmosphere 
of  friendship. 
144  a 


Behind  the  pilai,  Aloro  and  other  men  cleared  all 
weeds  and  refuse  from  a  special  yard,  using  digging  sticks 
to  scrape  the  earth.  The  yard  is  a  pretty  and  sequestered 
place,  shaded  by  banana  trees  and  casuarina  and  pandanus. 
All  morning  large  hiperi  had  been  brought  in,  and  wood 
and  cooking  stones  and  leaves.  Ekali  brought  a  pig,  and 
Apeore  and  others  brought  bundles  of  split  timbers;  they 
marched  in  procession  through  the  sili  and  stacked  the  wood 
under  the  trees  in  the  small  yard.  Old  cooking  pits  were 
cleared  and  new  ones  dug.  Loliluk  appeared  and  went  into 
the  pilai,  followed  by  old  Elomaholan.  Elomaholan  wore  his 
usual  array  of  fur  bits  and  small  bags;  only  the  old  men 
carry  such  bags,  which  are  slung  at  the  waist  from  a  fiber 
shoulder  strap.  Elomaholan's  voice  is  high  and  squeaky, 
scarcely  audible,  and  he  is  prey  to  the  young  warriors,  who 
sneak  up  behind  him  on  the  paths  and  shout  Wittaia  shouts. 
Elomaholan  is  a  wisakun,  or  "medicine  man":  the  wisakuns, 
in  addition  to  their  medical  duties,  supervise  the  rituals  per- 
taining to  the  holy  stones. 

U-mue,  freshly  greased  for  the  occasion,  returned  into 
the  pilai  from  the  yard,  and  the  sobbing  of  greeting  was 
resumed.  He  would  utter  a  phrase,  and  Wereklowe  and  the 
rest  would  join  it  at  the  end,  carrying  it  onward  in  a  soft 
dying  waiL  All  held  their  fingers  to  the  bridges  of  their  noses, 
snuffling  wetly. 

The  pilai  itself  is  small  and  old  and  littered  as  a  witch's 
den.  Dark  packets  cling  to  all  the  walls  and  rafters,  and 
strange-shaped  gourds  and  long  straw  bundles,  old  arrows 
and  feathers;  the  ceiling  shines  with  black  accumulated 
grease.  It  is  no  longer  a  pilai  of  warriors,  all  its  strongest 
men  having  long  since  moved  away.  Some  years  ago  the 
Wilil  were  having  trouble  with  the  other  clans  living  at 
Abulopak,  and  U-mue  felt  it  time,  in  any  case,  to  start  a 
new  sili  of  his  own,  as  a  mark  of  power.  Most  of  the  Wilil 

•     T45 


went  with  him  to  Wuperainma,  though  a  few,  like  Aloro 
and  Woknabin,  remained  in  the  old  villages. 

Fat  hiperi  and  new  banana  fronds  were  brought  into 
the  pilai,  and  the  leaves  were  spread  out  in  the  rear,  be- 
fore a  kind  of  cupboard  on  the  wall.  Elomaholan  took  eight 
flat  wrapped  packets  from  the  cupboard  and  laid  them  on 
the  leaves:  these  were  the  holy  stones,  and  he  peered  into 
the  packets  to  see  which  was  which.  Then  he  sat  back  and 
stroked  two  very  big  hiperi,  which  lay  between  the  stones 
and  the  fire.  After  a  moment  he  left  the  pilai,  taking  a  bow 
and  arrows  into  the  yard;  these  U-mue  would  use  to  kill  the 
pigs.  There  were  no  women  anywhere  in  sight. 

The  gathering  men  sat  on  a  mat  of  straw  before  the 
pilai,  in  the  sun.  Aloro  held  the  first  pig  by  the  head,  and 
Woknabin  held  it  by  the  haunches,  and  U-mue  shot  it  through 
the  lungs;  the  process  was  repeated  with  the  others.  U-mue 
bit  his  lower  lip  as  his  arms  strained  at  the  bow;  he  smiled 
briefly  upon  the  release  of  every  arrow,  as  if  in  response 
to  some  private  satisfaction. 

A  large  sow  was  wheedled  toward  its  doom  by  Tegea- 
rek  and  Apeore;  U-mue  awaited  them,  posed  on  one  knee. 
But  the  sow  broke  free  repeatedly  and  had  finally  to  be 
seized  and  overpowered  by  eight  strong  warriors.  They 
struggled  forward,  and  the  men  laughed.  A  lath  was  held 
under  the  pig's  chin  to  support  its  head,  and  the  pig  bellowed, 
shuddering  all  over.  U-mue  shot  it  gingerly,  and  it  wrenched 
free,  scattering  the  people  in  its  path.  The  grunts  and  laughter 
of  the  men  made  him  look  cross.  More  small  pigs  were 
brought  and  killed;  they  ran  bleeding  down  the  yard,  in 
flight  from  death,  and  kept  on  running  even  after  they  had 
fallen. 

The  big  sow  was  cornered  once  again  and  thrown  to 
earth.  Tegearek  pumped  at  its  lungs  with  his  foot,  but  it 
had  been  shot  badly,  and  Aloro  brought  a  spear  to  finish  it. 

146    m 


It  was  carried  up  the  yard  at  last,  big  dewlaps  quaking,  its 
bloodied  bristles  stiffening  in  the  sun.  There  were  nine  pigs 
in  all.  Each  pig  was  earmarked,  and  each  man  in  the  com- 
pany of  more  than  fifty  knew  not  only  who  had  brought  them 
but  exactly  which  was  which;  they  had  a  very  good  idea, 
as  well,  as  to  which  piece  of  which  pig  each  man  would 
receive,  for  the  akuni  world  is  a  world  of  protocol  and  gesture, 
and  those  details  not  preordained  by  time  are  painstakingly 
determined  at  the  slow  small  fires. 

The  sow  was  a  long  time  at  the  fire,  hoisted  and 
kicked  and  rolled  and  scraped  by  Apeore  and  Tegearek.  The 
dressing  of  the  eight  small  pigs  was  already  in  progress,  with 
two  or  three  men  working  on  each.  U-mue  stood  regally 
above  his  people  as  they  bent  over  their  work,  the  new  clay 
like  yellow  gold  on  his  black  shoulders. 

While  the  pig-dressing  proceeded,  the  sili  became  quiet 
once  again.  Voices  drifted  from  the  shadows,  to  the  fitful 
chopping  of  stone  adze  on  bone.  Behind  the  pilai,  in  the 
yard,  a  large  fire  was  constructed,  like  a  pyre:  here  the 
cooking  stones  were  piled  and  heated.  From  the  steep  hiU 
above  the  sili  men  rolled  more  rocks  down  the  hill;  the 
rocks  rumbled  through  the  woods. 

Behind  the  fire,  under  a  pandanus,  a  small  fencing  guards 
the  spirits  of  the  dead.  The  fencing  was  replaced  now  with 
new  laths,  and  its  earth  weeded  and  tamped  down,  to  show 
the  spirits  that  they  are  not  neglected.  In  the  center  of  the 
fencing  stands  a  pole  of  cane  with  dried  ferns  attached; 
this  is  a  warning  sign,  to  indicate  that  the  place  must  not 
be  violated. 

On  a  rack  by  the  pilai  Aloro  and  Tegearek  hung  bloody 
slabs  of  meat.  The  hands  of  both  warriors  were  crimson, 
and  when  they  were  through  they  drank  water  from  a  gourd 
and  wiped  their  hands  with  ferns. 

Apeore  stood  in  the  cooking  pit,  covering  its  earthen 

•     147 


sides  with  long  fresh  grass;  the  strands  of  grass  fanned  out- 
ward several  feet  from  the  edge,  until  the  pit  looked  like  a 
gigantic  blossom.  Wet  leaves  were  placed  around  the  rim, 
like  a  bright  green  heart  of  the  grass  flower;  nearby  lay 
purple  hiperi.  The  rock  fire  popped  loudly  as  a  stone  ex- 
ploded; the  stones  were  seized  and  borne  away  in  tongs 
to  line  the  pit,  mounting  the  sides  until  an  igneous  center 
had  been  formed.  The  stones  were  covered  with  wet  grass, 
and  the  big  hiperi  laid  in  the  steam.  U-mue  appeared  and 
shouted  orders,  but  in  the  general  exhilaration  everyone  else 
was  shouting  orders  too.  The  voices  meant  nothing;  every- 
one worked  hard  and  willingly,  with  swift  efficiency.  The 
hiperi  were  brought,  and  more  wet  grass;  the  rock  fire  rose 
above  the  ground.  More  stones  were  laid  into  the  core,  while 
PoHk  and  others  wove  the  grass  sides  tight:  Polik  does  not 
hesitate  to  work  side  by  side  with  the  warriors,  or  even  the 
yegerek,  though  he  is  an  older  and  a  greater  kain  than  U-mue. 
The  tong  men  came  and  went,  grunting  like  penitents;  they 
moved  mechanically  from  pit  to  fire,  fire  to  pit,  their  six-foot 
implements  clacking  dismally  on  the  rocks.  On  the  pit's  edge 
Apeore  sprang  about,  demonic  in  the  steam. 

More  stones,  more  leaves,  and  a  large  packet  of  cere- 
monial pig,  wrapped  in  banana  leaf.  And  still  more  stones. 
The  stones  exploded  and  a  fragment  burned  hard-faced 
Huonke,  who  cried  out.  More  grass,  and  now  a  heap  of  fern, 
brought  forward  in  huge  bundles  and  sprinkled  with  water 
from  a  sunlit  gourd.  Tegearek  ran  forward  with  the  raw 
sow  hide,  heaving  it  flesh  down  onto  the  ferns.  More  pig 
meat  was  arranged  around  it,  in  fern  packets.  More  stones, 
more  ferns,  more  silver  water,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight — 
and  a  cry  passed  on  from  a  distant  kaio.  Kaio,  kaio,  a  man 
shouted,  and  there  was  a  brief  stir,  but  no  one  left  the  feast: 
today  the  other  clans  must  take  care  of  the  enemy. 

148     • 


The  grass  extending  outward  from  the  pit  was  folded 
upward,  enveloping  the  whole,  and  the  entire  edifice,  like 
a  small  haystack,  was  bound  around  with  a  long  coil  of 
rattan.  The  finished  job  was  handsome  and  compact,  the 
product  of  uncounted  years  of  practice;  the  voices  had  been 
profligate,  but  scarcely  a  gesture  had  been  wasted. 

Aloro  removed  the  spare  meat  from  the  rack  and  hung 
it  in  the  pilai;  it  would  be  eaten  in  the  ceremonies  of  the 
second  day.  Nilik  came,  walking  quietly  up  the  yard:  the 
name  Nilik  derives  from  this  man's  lifelong  knack  for  finding 
himself  in  the  vicinity  of  pig-eating.  There  is  something 
ominous  in  Nilik's  hungry  presence,  and  his  arrival  seemed 
foreshadowed  by  the  clouding-over  of  the  sun.  The  west 
wind  freshened,  and  the  skeletal  fronds  rising  above  the 
roofs  stirred  in  hollow,  ruined  apprehension.  He  greeted, 
unsmiling,  Asikanalek  and  other  men  who  passed  him  in 
the  yard;  they  were  taking  advantage  of  the  cooking  time 
to  go  and  investigate  what  had  happened  at  the  kaios. 

The  rock  fire  was  stripped  in  the  late  afternoon,  and 
the  browned  ferns  spread  out  in  a  great  mat  before  the  pilai. 
More  than  one  hundred  men  had  now  assembled,  and  most 
of  them  sat  in  a  circle  around  the  ferns.  Many  of  the  ferns 
were  eaten,  and  on  the  rest  the  pig  meat  was  arranged.  The 
fatty  skin  of  the  large  sow  was  hoisted  up,  and  U-mue  sliced 
it  in  thin  strips:  these  were  passed  to  the  individuals  and 
groups  deserving  them,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  quarreling, 
for  each  knew  and  received  his  share.  The  warriors  ate  the 
meat  with  gusto  but  without  haste  or  greed,  saving  some 
of  the  hot  lard  next  to  the  hide  to  rub  on  their  own  skins. 
The  grease  of  the  ceremonial  pig  is  beneficial  in  every  way, 
providing  both  strength  and  good  appearance;  by  the  end 
of  the  afternoon  the  dark  skins  were  gleaming. 

The  sow  rump  and  other  special  cuts  had  been  taken 

•     749 


into  the  pilai,  where  U-mue  and  the  old  kains  had  dis- 
appeared; there  a  bundle  of  new  fiber  strings,  worn  at  the 
throat  to  protect  the  men  in  war,  were  rubbed  in  wisa  grease. 
The  fibers  were  dispensed  to  warriors  like  Yeke  Asuk,  whose 
recent  wound,  a  serious  one,  indicated  his  need  of  new  pro- 
tection; Yeke  Asuk  handed  some  spare  strings  through  the 
door,  and  the  men  outside  grasped  at  them  eagerly. 

In  the  rear  of  the  pilai  the  holy  stones,  still  wrapped, 
lay  in  a  line  on  the  banana  leaf.  The  following  morning,  the 
cleansing  of  the  stones  was  to  take  place.  Noisily,  in  the  near- 
darkness  of  the  hut,  the  old  men  ate,  while  behind  them, 
slung  from  the  rafters,  the  raw  meat  dripped  cold  blood, 
turning  slowly  against  the  chinks  of  light. 


750    m 


•  For  several  days  the  Wittaia,  unable  to  effect  a 
death  in  battle  or  in  their  field  raids  from  the  Tokolik,  had 
attempted  a  raid  near  the  river,  coming  across  early  in  the 
morning  from  the  Turaba.  The  akuni  were  aware  of  this, 
and  Weaklekek's  kaio  had  been  strengthened  by  Aloro,  Husuk, 
and  other  warriors,  who  attempted  to  ambush  the  raiders; 
despite  several  alarms,  no  real  battle  had  occurred. 

This  morning  the  men  did  not  go  to  the  kaio,  for  the 
feast  of  the  Wilil  was  taking  place.  Aloro  was  an  important 
Wilil,  Weaklekek  an  important  guest,  and  Husuk  went  off 
to  war  on  the  north  frontier.  No  women  were  permitted 
in  Weaklekek's  fields,  and  the  kaio  was  abandoned  for  the 
day.  The  Aike  frontier,  with  the  looming  Turaba,  had  always 
been  a  dangerous  place,  and  as  WeaklekeFs  absence,  like 
all  other  important  matters,  was  common  knowledge,  no 
trouble  was  expected. 

But  the  day  was  hot,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  solitary 
Woluklek  went  to  the  river  to  drink  water.  The  people  tire 
of  the  stale,  silted  waters  of  the  ditches — they  have  no 
drink  but  water — and  in  dry  weather  will  often  go  a  long 
way  to  the  river,  where  they  squat  on  the  bank  and  drink 
slowly  and  steadily  for  minutes.  Woluklek  took  with  him 
three  little  boys  who  were  playing  near  Mapiatma. 

One  of  the  boys  was  Weake,  whose  father  had  been 
killed  the  year  before  on  the  Waraba.  His  mother  had  since 
run  off  to  the  Wittaia,  and  Weake  was  now  the  ward  of  his 
uncle,  the  warrior  Huonke.  He  was  a  small  yegerek,  a  friend 
of  Tukum,  with  the  large  eyes  and  thick  eyebrows  which 
make  many  of  the  children  beautiful.  His  name  meant  "Bad 
Path,"  and  recently  he  had  hurt  his  kg.  For  this  reason,  on 
this  day,  he  was  slower  than  his  friends. 

•     1ST 


Near  the  Aike,  on  a  little  rise  just  short  of  the  side  path 
to  Weaklekek's  kaio,  Woluklek  and  the  three  boys  were  am- 
bushed by  a  party  of  Wittaia;  the  raiders  sprang  from  the 
low  reeds  and  bushes.  Afterward  Woluklek  was  not  sure 
about  their  numbers,  but  a  raiding  party  is  usually  comprised 
of  about  thirty  men.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  He 
dropped  his  spear  and  fled,  the  boys  behind  him. 

All  his  life  Weake  had  been  taught  to  hate  and  fear  the 
enemy,  and  when  he  saw  the  strange  men  with  their  spears 
he  turned  with  the  rest  and  ran.  But  he  was  not  fast  enough 
and  was  almost  immediately  run  down.  He  screamed  for  help, 
but  the  others  were  running  for  their  lives  and  did  not  turn. 
The  face  of  a  man,  of  several  men,  loomed  above  him  on  the 
bright  blue  sky,  with  harsh,  loud  breathing.  The  men  rammed 
their  spears  through  him  over  and  over,  pinning  him  to  the 
ground,  and  then  they  were  gone,  and  Weake  was  carried 
home. 

The  cry  of  Kaio,  kaio  carried  swiftly  past  Homuak  and 
to  the  pig  feast:  the  hot  stone  fragment  that  had  burned 
Huonke  must  have  struck  him  close  to  the  same  instant  that 
his  nephew  had  been  pierced  by  the  long  spears.  While  the 
rock  fire  was  still  steaming,  word  came  from  Abulopak  about 
the  boy.  The  two  villages  almost  adjoin,  and  the  pilai  where 
Weake  lived  was  scarcely  a  hundred  yards  across  the  fences 
from  the  Wilil  fire.  Huonke  and  Tamugi,  his  brother-in-law, 
ran  toward  Abulopak,  where  the  women's  wailing  had  al- 
ready started. 

In  the  long  yard  of  the  sili  two  women  were  kneeling, 
facing  the  mute  pilai.  The  sili  lies  under  the  mountain,  at 
the  north  end  of  the  great  grove  of  araucaria,  and  the  pilai 
at  its  southern  end  is  shaded  by  the  tall  pines  against  the  hill. 
Inside  the  pilai  were  a  few  old  men,  and  then  Asikanalek 
arrived,  and  Tamugi  and  Huonke,  and  Siloba. 

Weake  lay  on  a  banana  frond  beside  the  fire.  He  was 

752     • 


still  alive,  and  his  clear  childish  voice  seemed  out  of  place 
in  the  brown  solemnity  of  the  men's  round  house:  it  cut 
through  the  decrepit  snuffling  of  the  old  men  as  the  shaft 
of  daylight  in  the  doorway  cut  through  the  motes  of  dust. 
Weake  spoke  of  his  own  etai-eken,  his  seed-of-singing,  the 
life  he  clung  to  with  all  his  strength,  as  if  the  mourning 
he  could  hear  must  be  some  dark  mistake.  An  etai-eken  werek! 
But  I'm  alive!  Though  he  not  once  screamed  or  whined,  his 
voice  was  broken  as  he  spoke  by  little  calls  of  pain,  and  the 
blood  flowed  steadily  onto  the  frond  beneath  him. 

Huonke  tried  to  quiet  him,  repeating  the  same  terse 
phrase  over  and  over,  like  a  chant:  Hat  ndhalok  loguluk!  Hat 
nahalok  loguluk! — But  you're  not  going  to  die!  Huonke's  voice 
was  die  only  firm  one  in  the  pilai.  Tamugi,  a  large-muscled 
man  whose  ready  smile  is  bolder  than  Ms  nature,  sobbed  as 
loudly  as  he  could,  while  Asikanalek  cried  silently.  The  boy's 
voice  answered  Huonke  obediently — Oh,  oh,  he  repeated 
gently.  Yes,  yes.  But  now  and  then  pain  or  terror  overcame 
him,  and  he  cried  out  and  fought  to  escape  the  death  that 
he  felt  in  their  hands.  Huonke  held  his  left  arm  and  Siloba 
his  right,  while  Tamugi  and  Asikanalek  held  down  his  legs. 
Siloba  neither  talked  nor  cried,  but  breathed  earnestly  and 
ceaselessly  into  the  boy's  ear,  oo-Phuh,  oo-Phuh:  this  ritual 
breathing,  which  brought  health,  would  be  used  in  the  next 
hour  on  the  wisa  pig  meat  in  the  pilai  of  the  Wilil. 

Weake  twisted  in  their  grasp,  his  back  arching;  his  legs 
were  released  and  he  drew  his  knees  up  to  his  chin,  covering 
the  gleam  of  the  neat  spear  holes  at  his  navel  and  lower  belly. 
The  old  cut  on  the  boy's  leg  still  had  its  green  patch  of  leaf 
dressing,  but  the  spear  holes,  like  small  mouths  in  his  chest 
and  sides,  his  arm  and  leg  and  stomach,  had  not  been  tended. 
Some  fresh  leaf  was  brought  at  last,  and  the  two  stomach 
wounds  were  bound  up  hastily,  almost  carelessly,  as  if  the 
true  purpose  of  the  leaf  was  to  protect  the  pilai  floor  from 

B     153 


blood;  in  their  distress  the  men  handled  him  ineptly,  and  he 
cried  out.  The  figures  hunched  over  him  in  the  near-darkness, 
with  the  old  men's  snuffling  and  the  steady  oo-Phuh,  oo-Phuh, 
and  the  harsh  tearing  of  the  leaf. 

Behind  Huonke,  in  the  shadows,  a  woman  sat  as  rigid 
as  a  stone.  The  custom  excluding  women  from  the  pilai  had 
been  waived  while  the  child  lived,  but  nevertheless  she  main- 
tained silence:  when  she  spoke,  but  once,  out  of  the  darkness, 
her  voice  came  clear  and  tragic,  like  a  song.  The  woman  was 
Huonke's  sister,  married  to  Tamugi;  she  has  a  wild  sad  quality 
in  her  face  and  is  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  the  Kurelu. 
She  counseled  the  men  to  take  the  boy  down  to  the  stream. 

Weake  clung  to  life  and  would  not  die.  His  writhings 
had  covered  him  with  blood,  and  he  lay  in  a  pool  of  darkness. 
When  the  woman  finished  speaking,  the  men  agreed  to  take 
him  to  the  water,  which,  entering  his  wounds,  would  leach 
out  the  dark  blood  of  illness.  He  was  picked  up  and  carried 
outside,  Siloba  holding  his  head  up  by  the  hair.  The  women 
in  the  yard  began  an  outcry,  but  the  men  did  not  pass  through 
the  yard.  They  took  Weake  through  a  hole  in  the  back  fencing, 
across  a  pig  pasture,  over  a  stile,  down  through  a  small  garden 
to  a  ditch.  There  they  laid  him  in  the  muddy  water,  so  that 
it  lapped  up  to  his  chest. 

Tamugi  did  not  come.  After  leaving  the  pilai  with  the 
other  men,  he  kept  on  going,  for  the  Wilil  fire  was  now  open, 
and  he  wished  some  pig.  The  others  accompanied  Huonke 
to  the  ditch.  Soon  they  too  left,  for  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  Only  Siloba  remained,  and  his  friend  Yonokma.  Yo- 
nokma  sat  in  water  up  to  his  waist,  holding  the  legs,  while 
Huonke  and  Siloba,  their  own  lower  legs  submerged,  held 
the  child's  arms:  Weake's  head  rested  on  Huonke's  right 
thigh. 

Fitfully  Weake  talked  and  now  and  then  cried  out:  the 
voice  rang  through  the  silent  garden,  against  the  soft  back- 

154    • 


ground  of  lament  and  the  low  hum  of  the  men's  voices  at 
the  pig  feast.  Once  he  cried,  Tege!  Tege!  in  terror  of  the 
spears,  and  Huonke  shouted  him  down:  Hat  ninom  werek! 
Hat  ninom  werek! — over  and  over  and  over:  You  are  here 
with  us,  you  are  here  with  us!  He  said  this  dully  every  time 
Weake  called  out.  You  are  here  with  us.  Then  Weake  would 
resume  his  own  meek,  rhythmic  Oh,  oh,  oh,  of  assent.  Hat 
ninom  werek — oh.  Hat  ninom  werek — oh.  His(^y^*idosed, 
opened  wide,  and  closed  again;  he  seemed  to  doze.  Im  the 
muddy  ditch,  with  its  water  spiders,  round  black  beetles, 
and  detritus  of  old  leaves,  his  blood  drifted  peacefully  away. 
Against  the  firmament  above  soared  the  great  arches  of 
the  banana  trees,  and  the  hill  crest  in  a  softening  light,  and 
the  blue  sky.  Taro  and  hiperi  grew  about  him,  and  the  blue- 
flowered  spiderwort  lined  the  steep  banks.  Swiftlets  coursed 
the  garden,  hunting  insects,  and  the  mosquitoes  came;  the 
men  slapped  one  another. 

Huonke  sighed  and  leaned  his  head  against  the  bank. 
In  grief,  Huonke's  face  had  lost  its  hard,  furtive  quality  and 
become  handsome.  Yonokma,  sitting  in  the  water,  yawned 
with  cold.  Okal,  who  had  gone  with  Weake  to  the  river,  came 
and  stared  down  at  his  friend;  he  looked  restless  and  unhappy 
and  soon  went  away  again. 

In  his  last  sleep  Weake  cried,  a  small,  pure  sound  which 
came  with  every  breath.  When  pain  awakened  him,  he  tried 
to  talk,  but  his  voice  was  faint  and  drowsy.  Siloba  breathed 
fitfully  into  his  ear,  but  his  efforts  were  disheartened:  he 
only  did  it,  guiltily,  when  the  little  boy  called  out.  The  small 
slim  body  had  more  than  twenty  wounds,  and  the  wonder 
was  that  the  boy  had  lived  so  long.  But  Weake  would  live 
until  the  twilight,  asleep  in  the  healing  water,  while  the  men 
attending  him  grew  tired  and  cold.  They  coughed  and  slapped 
themselves  and  stared  into  the  water,  and  the  little  boy's 
chest  twitched  up  and  down,  up  and  down.  Sometimes  Siloba 

•     T55 


poured  water  on  the  wounds  above  the  surface,  and  more 
blood  was  drawn  forth,  flowing  down  his  side.  Huonke  said, 
You  will  stay  with  us,  You  will  stay  with  us,  and  the  child 
said  Yes,  yes,  yes,  and  did  not  speak  again. 

Siba  came  and  stared  at  the  little  boy.  He  broke  off  the 
stem  of  a  taro  leaf  and  with  it  probed  the  wound  on  the  left 
side.  The  belly  leaf  was  floating,  and  the  small  horim:  Siba 
attempted  to  push  back  a  trace  of  white  intestine  which  pro- 
truded near  the  navel  as  if,  by  concealing  the  evidence  of 
hurt,  he  might  somehow  be  of  help.  Weake  was  failing  rapidly 
and  did  not  cry  out;  his  mouth  was  open,  and  his  lips  had 
puffed  and  dried.  In  the  attack  he  had  received  a  heavy  blow, 
for  the  side  of  his  face  had  grown  swollen  and  distorted. 

Yonokma  leaned  forward  and  removed  a  bit  of  straw 
from  the  dry  lips. 

Siba  ran  across  the  garden  and  sprang  onto  the  roof 
of  the  pig  shed  by  the  fence.  There,  with  a  great  cracking 
sound  like  anger,  he  broke  off  a  banana  frond  and  hurled 
it  down  into  the  sili  yard:  this  leaf  would  be  the  little  boy's 
last  bed.  Returning,  he  picked  Weake  up  out  of  the  water 
and  carried  him  homeward  through  the  garden.  Huonke  and 
the  two  elege  trailed  Siba  through  the  dusk,  shaking  with 
cold. 

The  small  body  was  limp,  with  one  foot  lying  on  the 
other,  and  arms  hanging;  the  blood  dripped  very  slowly  on 
the  weeds.  His  breathing  had  silenced,  and  his  eyes,  half 
closed,  had  glazed,  like  those  of  a  fresh-killed  animal.  Nilik, 
Wereklowe,  and  Polik  had  come  to  look  at  him  in  his  pilai, 
but  it  was  evening  now  and  he  was  dead. 

The  next  morning,  in  the  middle  of  the  yard,  Huonke 
and  Tamugi  built  the  chair.  Four  women  emerged  from  the 
cooking  shed  and  kneeled  before  it,  and  more  women  were 
already  climbing  the  stile  which  separated  the  small  sili  from 
the  main  yard  of  Wereklowe.  The  wailing  had  commenced, 

156     » 


and  the  Alua  clan  was  coming  through  the  fields  from  all 
across  the  southern  Kurelu. 

In  the  pilai  crouched  Asikanalek,  twisted  by  grief. 
Against  the  wall,  where  sunlight  filtered  through  the  chinks, 
sat  Weake's  small  silhouette,  already  arranged  in  the  position 
he  would  be  given  in  the  chair.  Asikanalek  went  to  him  and 
carried  him  outside  into  the  day.  Still  holding  the  boy,  he 
kneeled  in  the  bright  sun  before  the  pilai  and,  staring  up- 
ward at  the  sky,  lamented.  The  men  about  him  looked  di- 
sheveled and  distraught,  and  Asikanalek's  shoulders  were 
smeared  with  yellow  clay.  Weakens  appearance  in  the  yard 
had  caused  a  stir  among  the  women;  the  long  day  of  fierce 
wailing  had  begun. 

Weake  was  draped  with  two  large  shell  bibs,  which 
covered  not  only  his  mutilated  chest  but  his  torn  stomach; 
the  wife  of  Tamugi  kneeled  before  him,  binding  up  his  legs. 
A  man  adjusted  a  new  funeral  horim  to  replace  the  one  which 
had  floated  off  in  the  brown  ditch.  Beside  the  chair  Huonke 
and  Tamugi  cried  out  and  rubbed  their  legs.  Now  and  then 
Huonke  would  rub  his  hands  together  in  a  strange,  stiff- 
fingered  way,  and  glance  about  him,  as  if  uneasy  in  the  light 
of  day. 

Weake  was  carried  to  his  chair.  His  bound  legs  were 
hung  over  the  cross  piece,  and  his  head  was  held  up  by  a 
strip  of  leaf  passed  by  Tamugi  beneath  his  chin.  At  the  foot 
of  the  chair,  wailing,  Tamugfs  wife  crouched  upon  the 
ground  and  mopped  at  it  with  torn-up  grass;  she  made  a 
circular  motion  with  her  hand,  scarring  the  earth.  Other 
women,  with  girls  and  small  children,  filed  steadily  into  the 
yard  and  arranged  themselves  upon  the  ground  before  lend- 
ing their  voices  to  the  waves  of  sound. 

A  lizard  darted  from  the  fence  to  seize  an  insect  It 
gulped  busily,  its  small  head  switching  back  and  forth,  and 
moved  in  quick  fits  and  starts  back  to  the  shadows.  Above, 

*     157 


a  honey  eater  bounded  to  the  limb  of  an  albizzia.  It  too 
cocked  its  head,  unsettled  by  the  wailing,  but  calmed  before 
it  fled,  and  sat  there  preening.  In  the  blue  sky  over  the  hill 
the  kites  harassed  one  another,  screeching. 

The  men  draped  shell  belts  on  Weake,  binding  his  brow 
with  the  bright  colors  and  building  the  belts  into  a  kind  of 
crown.  But  his  head  was  small,  and  most  of  the  belts  were 
lain  along  his  sides  and  down  the  chair  arms.  While  his 
attendants  scratched  and  shuffled  and  thought  thoughts,  in 
the  warm  doldrums  of  their  existence,  the  child  sat  alone  in 
cold  serenity.  He  seemed  to  grieve,  nevertheless,  as  if  op- 
pressed by  all  his  trappings;  when  the  women  came  and 
draped  their  nets,  they  almost  hid  him  in  the  shadows. 
Huonke  came  and  smeared  him  with  fresh  pig  grease,  and 
his  shins,  still  in  the  sun,  took  on  a  gleam:  Tukum,  himself 
gleaming  from  the  pig  grease  of  the  day  before,  perched  by 
the  fence  on  a  small  stone  and  watched  Weake.  Tukum  was 
one  of  the  few  children  who  seemed  upset,  though,  like  all 
his  companions,  he  had  seen  many  funerals  and  would  see 
many  more. 

A  group  led  by  Polik  sang  wheezily  and  long  the  ancient 
chants  of  mourning,  working  the  ground  with  gnarled  old 
toes  and  rubbing  spavined  thighs.  One  of  them,  his  wrinkled 
skua  reptilian,  felt  peevishly  for  the  tobacco  roll  buried  in 
the  pouch  strung  on  his  back.  At  the  same  time  he  contributed 
his  mourning,  a  frail  woo,  woo,  woo,  and  his  long  nose  ran 
tumultuously  with  all  the  rest:  the  hole  for  boars*  tusks  in 
his  septum  had  stretched  wide  with  old  age,  so  that  the 
light  shone  through  it 

Some  of  the  men  brought  belts,  and  Huonke  called  out 
to  them  in  greeting,  a  loud  wah-h,  wah-h,  somehow  imper- 
tinent, and  at  the  same  time  self-ingratiating.  He  and  his 
brother-in-law  stood  at  the  chair  and  haggled  covertly  about 

158     H 


the  placement  of  the  belts.  While  haggling,  Tamugi  contrived 
to  sob,  rolling  his  eyes  in  the  frank,  open  face  of  cant. 

Four  pigs  came  forth,  and  the  pilaf s  owner  destroyed 
them  with  a  kind  of  sad  authority.  All  four  died  speedily, 
snouting  the  ground,  legs  kicking,  as  if  they  were  trying  to 
bore  into  the  earth.  They  were  dressed  swiftly,  and  the 
yegerek  brought  logs.  Weake's  friend  Okal  was  among  them: 
he  wore  the  yellow  clay  of  mourning  and  a  pad  of  leaves  to 
protect  his  shoulder  from  the  wood.  Like  all  the  other  boys, 
he  played  a  large  part  in  the  funeral  of  his  friend. 

Nilik,  with  his  affinity  for  pig,  had  come  in  time  to 
finger  the  bloody  pieces,  which  were  hung  on  a  rack  behind 
the  chair.  Before  the  chair  an  old  woman  beat  her  breast 
with  stumpy  hands:  Aulk,  aulk,  aulk,  aulk,  she  cried — Loo, 
loo,  loo,  loo.  The  yellow  clay  was  crusted  in  the  skin  folds 
of  old  breasts,  of  fallen  hips.  On  the  far  side  of  the  yard  a 
giant  butterfly,  dead  white  and  black,  danced  out  of  the 
shadows  of  the  woods  and,  passing  through  the  akuni,  danced 
back  again. 

Huonke  and  Tamugi  cried  loud  and  long,  mouths  trem- 
bling and  eyes  alert.  They  watched  the  entrance  of  Weakle- 
kek,  his  people  behind  him  carrying  three  large  flat  ye  stones 
decorated  around  the  middle  with  fur  and  cowries.  The  ye 
stones  are  valuable  but  not  sacred,  though  they  may  later 
become  so;  they  are  used,  like  cowrie  belts,  as  a  medium  of 
exchange.  Wah!  Wah!  cried  Huonke.  Wah!  Wah!  cried  Ta- 
mugi. The  party  stopped  before  the  chair  to  grieve,  and  then 
the  men  went  onward  toward  the  pilai,  while  the  women  and 
small  children  remained  in  the  upper  yard. 

Weaklekek  sat  down  quietly  and  stared  into  the  earth. 
He  was  one  of  Weake's  namis,  and  plainly  he  blamed  him- 
self for  the  boy's  death,  since  it  was  his  kaio  that  had  been 
abandoned.  But  the  raid  and  death  were  part  of  akuni  ex- 

•     159 


istence,  and  neither  Weaklekek  nor  Woluklek  were  blamed 
by  any  of  the  others.  Even  so,  Woluklek,  who  had  been  un- 
wise enough  to  lead  the  three  boys  to  the  river,  did  not  come 
to  the  funeral  at  all. 

U-mue's  wives  had  come,  and  with  them  the  children 
of  his  sili.  Aku  and  Holake  joined  the  little  girls  of  the  village, 
who  were  going  about  on  small  self-conscious  errands;  the 
girls  smiled  modestly  at  everyone,  in  the  pretty  illusion  that 
all  eyes  were  upon  them.  Nylare,  who  is  very  young,  had  a 
poor  grasp  of  the  situation,  but  she  took  up  the  wail  of 
mourning,  humming  it  contentedly  to  her  own  rhythms.  Na- 
torek,  escaping  his  mother  repeatedly,  played  in  the  narrow 
path  through  the  massed  women;  like  most  akuni  children, 
he  accepted  his  mother's  cuffs  and  cries  in  great  good  spirits 
and  smiled  expansively  at  all  and  everything  even  when  late- 
comers stepped  upon  him.  He  was  finally  placed  under  the 
care  of  his  brother  Uwar,  who  took  him  to  a  corner  of  the 
yard  and  picked  his  lice. 

While  the  food  cooked,  more  men  arrived;  they  over- 
flowed into  the  woods  behind  the  fencing.  The  mourning 
faltered  in  the  midday  pall,  and  nothing  stirred.  Only  the 
stinging  bees,  black  and  yellow,  toiled  remorselessly  on  a 
small  open  hive,  hanging  upside  down  from  a  pandanus  leaf 
beyond  the  fence;  they  hung  in  the  air  below  the  hive,  their 
hair  legs  dangling,  or  clasped  one  another  in  dry,  delicate 
embrace. 

Near  the  main  entrance  of  Abulopak  the  tips  of  the 
long  grasses  had  been  tied  together  in  three  places  in  the 
weeds:  the  tied  grass  forbids  trespassing.  The  signs  were  a 
warning  to  the  women,  who  were  nearly  two  hundred  strong, 
and  whose  use  of  the  near  weeds  to  urinate  had  become  an 
offense  to  Wereklowe. 

The  rock  fire  was  dismantled,  and  pig  distributed  among 
the  men:  a  few  bits  were  borne  to  certain  women.  Asikana- 


160 


lek's  daughter  Namilike  walked  around  with  her  small  net 
stuffed  with  hiperi,  passing  it  out;  Weakens  little  sister  Iki 
Abusake  was  also  there,  as  pretty  in  a  baby  way  as  Namilike 
herself.  Iki  Abusake's  curious  name  means  "Hand  That  Could 
Not  Help  Itself/7  the  expression  used  by  the  akuni  to  account 
for  the  phenomenon  of  pig-stealing. 

During  the  eating,  soft  waves  of  mourning  rose  and  fell. 
The  sun,  sliding  down  into  the  west,  burned  hotly  on  Weake, 
and  women  tried  to  shield  him  with  their  nets.  But  now  the 
men  came  forward  and  stripped  him  of  his  belts:  the  meal 
was  over,  and  the  day's  business  must  begin.  The  belts  were 
stretched  on  a  frond  before  the  pilai,  with  the  kains  seated 
in  a  line  along  each  side.  When  the  belts  had  been  admired 
for  a  time,  and  their  destiny  decided,  Wereklowe  stood  up 
to  dispense  them. 

Until  this  time  Wereklowe  had  remained  out  of  the  way, 
ceding  the  administration  of  the  funeral  to  Asikanalek:  Asi- 
kanalek  was  not  only  a  sub-kain  of  the  Alua  but  a  fine  war- 
rior who  had  killed  two,  and  a  close  relative  of  the  dead  boy. 
But  the  exchange  of  goods  was  an  end  purpose  of  the  funeral, 
and  the  greatest  leader  of  the  clan  usually  directs  it.  With 
a  weighty  pause  between  the  names,  Wereklowe  gave  out 
the  belts;  he  was  attended  by  respectful  silence.  One  belt 
was  awarded  to  Weaklekek,  but  Weaklekek  was  still  morose 
and  waved  it  off;  in  his  despair,  and  despite  all  his  rich  gifts, 
he  felt  he  did  not  deserve  it.  LakaloHek,  more  practical,  came 
forth  and  took  it  in  her  husband's  name. 

Despite  the  great  amount  of  grieving,  there  seemed 
small  hint  of  outrage.  Huonke  complained  that  the  pavi 
should  not  have  done  it,  but  then,  Huonke  has  killed  once 
himself,  a  harmless  woman  found  near  the  frontier  who  had 
run  away  from  the  Siep-Elortak.  Revenge  there  would  be, 
inevitably,  but  without  moral  judgments.  Nevertheless,  for 
the  funeral  of  a  small  boy,  well  over  two  hundred  people 


had  pushed  into  the  small  sili:  more  presents  were  brought, 
and  more  pigs  killed,  than  for  the  funeral  of  Ekitamalek,  a 
kain's  son  and  a  warrior.  Only  a  few  could  have  come  there 
in  real  sorrow,  and  only  a  few  for  the  exchange  of  goods. 
The  rest  had  come  because  the  killing  of  a  child,  despite 
its  ancient  sanctions,  had  made  them  unhappy  and  uneasy. 

His  back  to  Wereklowe,  the  child  sat  naked  in  the  chair. 
The  women  came  to  remove  the  nets,  and  Weake  stirred; 
his  head  dropped  slowly  to  his  breast,  for  his  chin  strap  had 
been  loosened  from  behind.  Then  suddenly  a  man  began  to 
shout,  and  a  complete  silence  fell.  The  speaker  was  Polik, 
and  he  was  warning  the  people  that  they  might  be  in  danger. 

In  the  fortnight  previous  Amoli,  the  violent  kain  of  the 
Haiman,  had  killed  the  young  brother  of  a  man  with  whom 
he  was  having  a  dispute:  taking  the  life  of  a  relative  of  one's 
antagonist,  or  even  that  of  his  small  child,  is  not  unusual, 
being  not  only  a  more  subtle  punishment  but  a  less  dangerous 
one.  The  man  had  fled  to  the  Siep-Kosi  but  had  sworn  re- 
venge, and  Polik,  on  behalf  of  Amoli,  warned  any  of  the 
latter's  friends  or  kinsmen  to  be  on  guard.  The  fugitive's 
wife  was  ordered  to  come  to  him  the  next  morning  in  Abulo- 
pak,  so  that  he  and  Wereklowe  might  have  a  full  explanation 
of  the  affair:  it  is  one  of  the  duties  of  the  great  kains  to  settle 
feuds  within  the  tribe,  not  infrequently  at  the  expense  of 
their  own  pigs.  When  Polik  had  finished  speaking,  the  guests 
fidgeted  uneasily,  but  after  a  while  the  voices  mounted  once 
again,  and  the  women  returned  to  remove  Weake's  nets. 

People  were  already  departing  from  the  sili.  The  thongs 
were  loosened,  and  Weake  was  carried  back  to  the  banana 
leaves  where  the  shell  belts  had  kin.  The  yegerek,  grim, 
brought  timber  for  the  pyre:  Tukum  looked  frightened 
and  was  openly  upset.  The  mourning  quickened.  Huonke 
greased  the  body  a  last  time  and,  when  he  was  finished,  took 
up  the  bow  and  arrow.  Another  man  held  up  the  great  thatch 
162  m 


bundle.  The  arrow  was  shot  into  it,  releasing  the  spirit  from 
the  body,  and  the  man  ran  with  the  bundle  up  the  yard;  he 
laid  the  bundle  on  the  sili  fence. 

The  fire  had  been  assembled  quickly,  and  a  loud  outcry 
erupted  with  the  flames:  the  body  was  hurried  to  its  pyre. 
Weake  was  laid  upon  his  side,  in  the  way  that  small  boys 
sleep,  with  a  rough  timber  pillowing  his  head.  The  flames 
came  up  beside  him,  and  more  wood  was  laid  on  top  of  him, 
and  he  disappeared. 

The  mourning  died  after  a  time,  and  the  sili  emptied 
quickly.  Huonke  brought  out  a  red  parrot  feather  and  per- 
formed the  purification  ceremony  on  the  men  who  had 
handled  the  boy's  body.  The  men,  seated  in  a  circle,  held  out 
both  their  hands,  and  Huonke  passed  the  parrot  feather 
through  the  air  above  the  outstretched  fingers.  Afterward,  as 
much  was  done  for  him. 

The  last  of  Weake  was  a  sweet  choking  smell,  carried 
upward  by  an  acrid  smoke  from  the  crackling  pyre,  and 
diffusing  itself  at  last  against  the  pine  trees,  the  high  crest 
of  the  mountain  wall,  the  sky. 


163 


•  The  second  part  of  the  stone  ceremony  had  been 
postponed  a  day,  out  of  respect  for  the  funeral  of  Weake, 
and  meanwhile  the  hanging  pig  meat  had  acquired  a  sweet 
stink  which  filled  the  Wilil  pilai,  overpowering  the  old  res- 
ident smell  of  grease  and  sweat  and  strong  tobacco.  The 
ears,  tails,  jaws,  sow  rump,  and  other  pieces  lay  separately 
on  burned  fern  leaves  before  the  pilai  fire:  the  blood  had 
dried  a  purple  brown,  and  the  meat  itself,  its  juices  gone, 
had  shriveled  into  charred,  amorphous  lumps.  Only  the  pig 
mandibles,  teeth  gleaming  in  the  lean  smile  of  death,  stood 
out  from  the  rest;  these  were  arranged  in  a  neat  row  beside 
the  fire. 

Early  in  the  morning,  in  the  presence  of  Elomaholan 
and  other  wisakun  old  men,  as  well  as  the  warriors  Aloro, 
Tegearek,  and  Yeke  Asuk,  and  a  single  non- Wilil,  Wereklowe, 
U-mue  removed  the  holy  stones  from  their  crisp  packets. 
The  stones  are  rarely  exposed  to  view,  and  the  ritual  was 
performed  in  awe  and  silence. 

Each  holy  stone  is  far  older  than  the  reckoning  of  the 
clan,  and  its  particular  powers  are  well  known.  The  stones 
are  of  the  dark  green  color  of  the  ye  stones,  a  deep,  opaque 
jade,  though  a  few  are  black;  they  are  shaped  beautifully 
in  the  same  spatulate  flat  way,  narrowed  sometimes  in  the 
center,  but  they  are  smaller  and  they  are  undecorated.  U-mue 
took  each  one  up — he  was  on  his  knees — and  smeared  it 
gently  and  lovingly  with  grease  of  the  warn  wisa  until,  in 
the  firelight,  the  stone  seemed  to  glow.  The  stones  were  then 
put  in  their  packets  and  replaced  upon  the  mat. 

Now  U-mue  returned  to  the  front  of  the  pilai,  where, 
taking  up  the  pig  tails,  he  sliced  off  the  tufts  with  a  bamboo 
164  m 


knife.  Some  of  these  tufts  he  threaded  on  a  sliver;  these 
will  be  worn  by  important  men  as  decoration.  Another  tuft 
was  hung  up  by  Wereklowe  among  the  fetish  objects  on  the 
frame  above  the  fire,  and  a  last  one  was  inserted  by  Elo- 
maholen  into  one  of  the  stone  packets  to  assure  the  ghosts 
of  dead  Wilil  that  they  had  not  been  forgotten.  The  packets 
were  replaced  in  the  high  cupboard  behind  the  hanging 
bundles  in  the  rear, 

Elomaholan  now  went  outside,  followed  by  U-mue  and 
the  warriors.  Through  the  wide  carpet  of  ferns  and  grasses 
on  which  the  pig  had  been  devoured  two  days  before,  Elo- 
maholan cleared  a  path  to  facilitate  the  departure  of  the 
ghosts:  these  would  now  go  forth  in  concert  and  set  the 
Wilil  community  to  rights. 

Since  the  eating  of  the  wisa  pig,  the  men  had  been 
under  a  wisa  ban  and  could  not  smoke  or  drink  or  touch 
their  wives.  It  was  now  time  to  remove  the  ban.  A  large 
company  of  men  went  from  the  sili,  taking  sticks.  In  the 
fields  and  undergrowth  they  beat  the  cane  brakes  and  the 
grass,  searched  coverts,  and  dug  under  stumps,  in  a  search 
for  small  wild  creatures.  All  the  men  and  boys  took  part  in 
this,  even  Elomaholan,  as  well  as  such  guests  as  Wereklowe 
and  Polik — all,  that  is,  except  U-mue  himself,  who,  su- 
premely careful  of  his  own  dignity,  stood  to  one  side,  arms 
folded  on  his  chest. 

Wild  creatures,  when  blown  upon  by  the  wisakun,  then 
eaten,  have  the  power  to  remove  the  wisa  ban.  The  people 
do  not  know  the  basis  of  this  power;  they  only  say  it  has 
always  been  this  way.  Although  anyone  can  do  the  blowing, 
only  the  true  wisakuns  are  effective,  and  the  power  is  passed 
on  from  father  to  son.  The  blood  line  is  not  important:  Asok- 
meke  is  a  wisakun  and  can  transfer  his  power  to  his  stepson 
Tukum.  If  Tukum  should  not  wish  it  when  the  time  comes, 
Asok-meke's  gift  will  be  inherited  by  Siba~ 

m    165 


In  a  half-morning  of  search  and  shouting,  twenty-one 
krge  mice  and  field  rats  were  taken,  and  a  beehive  with 
its  edible  larvae,  and  a  large  yellow-faced  grasshopper.  The 
first  animals,  four  mice,  were  given  to  Elomaholan,  and  he 
cupped  them  in  his  hand;  the  tails  hung  neatly  in  a  row  out 
to  one  side,  and  on  the  other  a  bouquet  of  mice  heads,  their 
round  black  eyes  beady  with  terror. 

A  little  girl  came  running  from  Abulopak  in  hysterics; 
she  was  one  of  those  supposed  to  undergo  the  mourning 
mutilation.  She  was  caught  and  thrashed  by  an  old  woman, 
and,  as  the  thrashing  of  a  child  is  a  very  rare  event,  it  created 
a  pleasant  diversion  for  the  hunters. 

Toward  midday  U-mue  returned  to  the  pilai,  carrying 
the  creatures  with  him  in  a  net  bag:  they  were  wrapped 
with  women's  neatness  in  leaves  and  grass.  A  banana  frond 
was  laid  on  top  of  the  warn  wisa,  and  the  dead  rats  and  mice, 
the  grasshopper  and  the  small  open  hive,  were  laid  in  a  row 
along  its  spine.  U-mue  smoothed  the  rodent's  fur  with  the 
same  delicacy  and  care  that  he  had  used  to  handle  the  green 
stones;  he  then  straightened  the  rat  whiskers,  a  touch  which 
a  less  fastidious  kain  might  not  have  thought  of.  When  he 
was  finished  he  sat  back,  and  the  other  men  shouted  vio- 
lently at  the  ghosts,  Go  out,  go  out!  The  men  rushed  out  of 
the  pilai,  chasing  the  ghosts  before  them. 

The  animals  were  given  to  young  boys,  who  opened 
them  with  bone  needles  and  removed  the  entrails.  Stones 
were  being  heated  in  a  pyre,  and  the  cleaned  rats  were  placed 
along  the  edges  of  the  fire  to  be  singed:  their  backs  arched 
as  they  shrank,  and  their  teeth  protruded.  Okal  toasted  one 
rat  on  the  end  of  a  pointed  stick;  like  all  children,  he  did 
not  turn  his  body  from  the  flames  but  leaned  backward  from 
his  own  hand,  squinching  his  face  to  alleviate  the  heat.  The 
charred  rats  were  wrapped  up  in  leaf  and  returned  into  the 
166  m 


pilai,  where  the  ritual  blowing  was  performed  on  them,  prior 
to  their  baking  in  the  fire. 

Big  Woknabin,  the  only  Wilil  warrior  still  living  in  the 
pilai  of  the  holy  stones,  sat  by  himself.  Woknabin's  blind 
eye  saddens  his  face,  though  true  sadness  may  stem  from  the 
knowledge  that  his  wife  is  a  known  slut.  The  woman  is  con- 
demned by  the  community  as  kepu,  in  the  sense  of  "worth- 
less/' but  this  knowledge  must  be  small  consolation  to  her 
husband. 

Tukum,  sucking  his  thumb,  sat  on  a  rock  and  watched 
the  older  boys.  In  a  little  while  he  joined  some  smaller 
children — Natorek  and  Oluma  and  U-mue?s  tiny  daughter 
Nylare,  the  only  female  in  the  company.  Together  they 
gnawed  on  some  old  pig  bones  left  over  from  two  days  before 
and  watched  the  construction  of  the  cooking  pit.  Yeke  Asuk, 
who  labors  rarely,  sat  by  the  pit,  chewing  on  a  pig  ear;  he  was 
nearly  burned  by  the  boy  Weneluke,  who  dropped  a  hot 
stone  from  his  tongs  while  trying  to  help  the  older  boys  con- 
struct the  fire.  Weneluke  always  tries  very  hard.  He  is  high- 
hipped  and  gangly  and  a  sissy,  with  the  sissy's  unhappy  re- 
course to  sneaky  giggling  and  dirty  jokes;  it  is  he  who  has 
done  the  finest  rock  drawings  at  the  fire  sites  across  the 
mountainside.  Yeke  Asuk  sneered  at  him,  though  mildly:  he 
had  recovered  now  from  his  bad  arrow  wound,  and  with  his 
full  belly,  new  fiber  string,  and  fresh  coat  of  grease,  was  fat 
with  good  spirits.  He  took  up  a  piece  of  raw  ginger  and  ate  it 
with  a  happy  crunch.  Ordinarily  ginger  is  eaten  wrapped 
in  its  own  leaves,  which  cool  it,  and  Yeke  Asuk,  gasping  for 
breath,  rolled  his  eyes  and  moaned  and  clapped  his  hands 
over  his  ears  as  if  otherwise  his  poor  skull  might  explode. 
A  moment  later  he  ate  another  piece,  with  the  same  ceremony. 

Natorek,  with  his  ferocious  energy,  toddled  from  group 
to  group,  assaulting  people*  For  his  girth  he  is  very  quick 

»      1*7 


and  strong,  and  lie  snapped  a  piece  of  savory  fern  right 
out  of  Tukum's  mouth.  Tukum  retrieved  it,  looking  injured 
and  owlish,  but  a  moment  later  he  laughed  huskily  to  him- 
self with  a  kind  of  jolly  fiendishness,  the  sort  of  laugh  that 
might  issue  from  a  stump. 

Natorek  had  concealed  himself  behind  the  grass  stack 
of  the  fire  and  was  throwing  grass  spears  at  his  brother  Uwar. 
The  stack  was  as  tall  as  Natorek,  so  that  only  his  rust  curls 
could  be  seen,  agitating  furiously  as  he  plotted;  every  few 
moments  a  pudgy  hand  would  rise  out  of  the  smoke  and 
hurl  a  spear,  then  disappear  again.  His  concealment  was 
superior  to  his  accuracy,  but  nonetheless  Uwar  got  up  with 
his  lank  grace  and  drove  him  disdainfully  into  the  open.  The 
embattled  boy  leapt  and  cavorted  to  avoid  Uwar's  missiles, 
but  most  of  his  energy  was  exerted  before,  between,  and  long 
after  the  moments  that  the  spears  were  thrown,  for  his  timing 
was  primitive:  Natorek  is  very  much  an  earthbound  creature, 
and  despite  all  his  precautions  the  battle  ended  as  it  was 
doomed  to  end,  and  an  old  man  came  to  comfort  him  when 
he  cried. 

The  pit  was  opened,  and  the  men  gathered  in  the  small 
yard.  Pig  meat  and  rats  were  passed  around,  and  though 
everyone  was  supposed  to  receive  at  least  a  small  scrap  of 
the  latter,  U-mue  and  other  men  passed  it  by:  the  bulk  of 
the  rats  was  consumed  by  the  yegerek  and  by  Woluklek. 
The  boys  gnawed  fiercely  at  the  rats,  which,  quite  aside 
from  their  curative  powers,  are  a  delicacy.  Okal  and  his 
twin — they  are  the  sole  identical  twins  in  the  southern  Kurelu, 
distinguishable  only  by  the  fact  that  OkaFs  right  ear  is 
cropped  in  mourning — ate  rats  most  avidly  of  all.  Their  sharp 
ears  and  quick  slanted  eyes,  their  vulpine  faces,  gave  them 
a  predatory  air,  like  wolf-children. 

The  yard  filled  with  the  soft,  slippery  sound  of  pig- 
eating  and  a  faint  scent  of  putrefaction.  Everyone  ate  the 

168     • 


cooked  ferns  and  hiperi,  sitting  cross-legged  in  the  sun,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  feast,  before  going  home,  they  greased  one 
another  once  again,  with  jovial  rubs  and  slappings.  The 
yegerek  did  the  same,  and  Natorek  stood  up  for  his  anointing, 
which  was  administered  by  Uwar.  He  stretched  his  arms  high 
above  his  head,  as  if  on  the  point  of  clapping  for  the  world's 
attention. 


I  When  the  feast  was  over,  Tukum  ran  straight 
around  to  Weakens  sili  in  Abulopak.  There,  early  that  morn- 
ing, a  very  different  ceremony,  iki  palin,  had  taken  place. 
Out  of  respect  for  the  dead  boy,  the  two  outer  joints  had 
been  removed  from  two  fingers  of  Weakens  sister,  Iki  Abu- 
sake,  and  three  other  little  girls.  In  addition,  the  upper  third 
of  a  young  boy's  left  ear  had  been  sliced  off  with  a  bamboo 
knife. 

A  half -hour  before  the  ceremony  the  fingers  of  the  little 
girls  had  been  bound  tight,  to  cut  off  circulation;  just  prior 
to  the  operation  the  children  were  struck  forcibly  on  the 
upper  arm,  to  render  the  hand  numb.  The  fingers  were  placed 
on  a  piece  of  wood  and  severed  with  a  blow  of  a  stone  adze. 
This  latter  task  had  been  performed  by  Tamugi,  who  is 
considered  skillful  in  such  matters.  The  fingers  are  hung  in 
the  cooking  shed  to  dry,  and  the  next  day  burned,  then  buried 
in  a  special  place  behind  the  pilai. 

The  boy  is  a  member  of  Wereklowe's  sili,  and  his  ear 
served  as  a  token  of  that  sili's  grief.  One  little  girl  is  Werek- 
lowe's  niece,  another  the  daughter  of  a  warrior  who,  having 
neither  pig  nor  stone  to  bring  to  the  funeral,  offered  the 
fingers  of  his  child.  A  third  is  the  daughter  of  Tamugi,  and 

m     169 


Iki  Abusake  is  an  orphan.  One  of  these  girls  had  taken  the 
place  of  a  fifth  child,  the  one  who  had  gotten  hysterical  and 
run  off.  Though  this  little  girl  had  been  beaten,  she  had  not 
been  forced  back  to  the  ceremony;  as  in  the  case  of  kepu 
men  in  time  of  war,  her  shame  is  thought  to  be  sufficient 
punishment. 

At  three,  Iki  Abusake  is  the  smallest  of  the  girls,  though 
the  other  children  cannot  be  more  than  four.  The  children 
sat  together  in  the  cooking  shed.  Their  hands  had  been 
bandaged  heavily  in  leaves,  bound  round  with  grass,  and  to 
slow  the  bleeding  each  held  the  green  mass  upright,  beside 
her  face,  like  a  toy  or  present  to  be  shown  to  friends.  The 
hands  bled  badly  all  that  morning,  and  each  little  girl  held 
a  clump  of  grass  under  her  elbow  to  absorb  the  blood.  None 
of  them  gave  evidence  of  more  than  slight  discomfort,  but 
all  were  silent  in  a  way  that  children  rarely  are,  and  the  eyes 
of  Iki  Abusake,  whom  the  children  call  Kibusake,  were  round 
with  shock. 

Their  relatives  talked  quietly  to  the  little  girls,  and  after 
a  while  the  children  were  taken  out  into  the  yard.  Many 
women  had  come,  for  this  was  their  occasion,  and  they  sat 
talking  cheerfully  by  the  funeral  ashes.  The  women  made 
a  kind,  mild  fuss  over  the  little  girls,  but  otherwise  no  notice 
was  taken  of  them.  They  were  fed  hiperi  and  ate  it.  Later 
the  little  boy  with  the  sliced  ear  went  to  the  men's  feast 
of  the  Wilil  and  gnawed  his  rat  meat  with  the  rest;  the  side 
of  his  head  had  been  smeared  carelessly  with  clay. 

Tamugf s  wife  sat  by  herself,  picking  the  bones  of  Weake 
out  of  the  ashes.  She  used  small  wooden  tongs,  and  she 
laid  the  white  scraps  in  a  little  pile  on  a  banana  leaf.  The 
motion  of  her  arm,  though  sure  and  graceful,  was  infinitely 
slow,  as  if  she  were  entranced.  Her  eyes  were  wide  and  sad, 
and  she  looked  peacefully  at  the  others  without  really  seeing 

170    fl 


them.  When  her  task  was  finished,  she  folded  the  leaf  over 
the  bones  and  took  it  away  into  the  cooking  shed. 

The  few  men  in  the  sili  kept  out  of  the  women's  way. 
Weaklekek  was  silent  still  and  spent  most  of  the  day  weaving 
fiber,  hunched  in  upon  himself.  But  late  in  the  afternoon 
the  men  asserted  themselves  once  more.  They  raised  a  shout, 
and  the  yegerek  came  flying  up  the  yard  through  the  packed 
women,  hurling  stones  at  the  fences  and  gateway  of  the  sili 
and  crying  out:  this  was  the  banishment  of  Weakens  ghost, 
reminding  it  of  its  journey  to  the  Wittaia.  The  yegerek  came 
back  laughing,  and  all  the  women  kughed  as  well,  for  the 
ghost-stoning  is  a  constructive  ceremony  from  which  nothing 
but  good  can  come.  More  hiperi  were  taken  from  the  ires, 
and  Tukuin,  still  greasy  with  his  pig,  secured  two  round  ones 
for  himself  and  made  off  with  them  to  the  terrains  of  the  men. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  funeral  another  hiperi  feast 
was  given,  this  time  in  the  sili  of  Wereklowe.  Among  matters 
discussed  were  steps  to  be  taken  in  the  future  to  safeguard 
the  Aike  frontier,  as  well  as  the  details  of  the  retaliatory  raid 
which  was  to  come;  the  death  of  Weake,  who  had  claimed 
Weaklekek  as  his  nami  and  who  had  not  only  been  a  member 
of  Wereklowe's  village  but  related  closely  to  Asikanalek  and 
other  important  Alua,  was  not  going  to  pass  unavenged. 
Huwai  had  died  for  the  death  of  Ekitamalek,  and  another 
enemy,  and  preferably  more  than  one?  would  pay  for  the 
death  of  Weake:  that  Weake  had  died  as  a  result  of  the 
death  of  Huwai,  or  of  Torobia,  or  of  Owak,  Tegaolok,  Wie, 
Haknisek,  or  Mali,  all  five  of  whom  had  died  of  wounds  re- 
ceived in  recent  moons  on  the  Tokolik  and  Waxaba,  was  not 
the  point:  revenge  was  an  ancient  rhythm  of  akuni  life,  a 
cycle  without  end. 

The  feast  was  scarcely  started  when  an  alarm  cry  came, 
and  this  time  the  sili  emptied  of  its  warriors.  The  Wittaia 

•     1 71 


were  said  to  have  struck  again,  on  the  mountain  path  to 
Lokoparek,  killing  both  women  and  children. 

The  warriors  ran  through  the  araucarias  in  a  swift,  loping 
stride,  past  Wuperainma  and  up  across  the  fields  above 
Homaklep,  into  the  trees.  But  the  alarm  was  born  of  the  high 
tensions  of  days  past;  if  there  had  been  Wittaia  on  the  moun- 
tain, no  trace  of  them  was  found.  The  men  came  down  the 
hill,  and  most  returned  to  Abulopak,  where  the  feasting  was 
resumed.  Once  again,  to  shouts  and  laughter,  Weakens  ghost 
was  sent  upon  its  way  in  a  hail  of  stones.  The  ceremony  was 
enacted  a  final  time  on  the  following  afternoon,  and  on  all 
these  days  the  grass  near  the  place  of  ambush  was  burned 
and  burned  again.  Weake's  ghost  would  linger  near  even  a 
faint  trace  of  his  blood  and  would  not,  until  all  blood  was 
gone,  be  free  to  cross  into  the  country  of  the  enemy. 

The  bones  of  Weake  had  already  been  placed  in  a  fenced 
shelter  behind  the  pilai.  Until  his  death  has  been  avenged, 
a  kind  of  altar  will  be  maintained  in  the  cooking  shed  of  his 
sili,  where  two  of  the  funeral  nets  still  hang  upon  the  wall. 
The  tails  of  the  slaughtered  pigs  are  fastened  to  the  nets, 
and  with  them  a  stalk  of  toa,  the  heavy-bodied  cultivated 
grass  which  tastes  like  a  fine  mixture  of  artichoke  and  celery; 
Weake  had  been  very  fond  of  toa,  and  its  place  on  the  nets 
is  designed  to  please  his  ghost.  In  the  rafters  above  hangs 
the  grass  bundle  used  as  a  sign  to  ghosts  that  all  has  been 
taken  care  of  in  the  sili  and  that  therefore  they  need  not  loiter 
but  should  get  on  about  their  business.  When  a  Wittaia  has 
been  killed  by  Weakens  people,  the  grass  will  be  burned  and 
the  altar  taken  down. 

The  death  of  Weake  was  not  called  out  to  the  Wittaia, 
for  this  was  scarcely  necessary;  nonetheless,  the  enemy  cele- 
brated an  etai.  The  boy's  mother,  who  lives  with  the  Wittaia, 
was  certainly  aware  of  Weakens  identity,  but  what  part  she 
played  in  the  celebration  the  akuni  did  not  know. 

172    m 


•  When  the  sun  had  risen  from  behind  the  wall, 

Yeke  Asuk  and  Tekman  Bio  came  up  through  the  fields, 
bound  for  the  mountains  to  cut  weapons.  Yeke  Asuk  wore  a 
new  head  net  and  carried  a  stone  adze  slung  upon  his  shoul- 
der; his  mouth  harp  was  stuck  jauntily  through  a  hole  in 
his  earlobe,  a  hard  red  berry  dangling  on  the  end  of  its  string. 
Tekman  Bio  wore  a  fine  hawk-feather  pouch  slung  on  his 
back,  and  carried  a  pale  laurel  spear.  The  boy  Supuk  went 
with  them.  They  traveled  slowly  up  the  hillside,  observing 
the  mountain  morning. 

Above  their  heads  loomed  the  limestone  walls,  and  the 
men  called  out,  'Yeke  Asuk-a-o,  Tekman  Bio-e,  and  the  spirits 
answered  them — asuk-a-o, — bio-e.  Mokat,  mokat,  they  said, 
and  laughed:  these  were  their  own  spirits  and  did  not 
frighten  them.  Farther  on,  the  path  was  intersected  by  a 
small  stream  where  it  flowed  over  a  large  pale  boulder  buried 
in  the  ground.  Here  the  people  sharpen  their  stone  tools,  and 
the  boulder's  surface  is  scraped  and  scarred  with  ancient 
labors,  Yeke  Asuk  put  down  his  adze,  removed  the  stone 
from  its  fiber  binding,  and  scraped  it  back  and  forth  under  the 
water:  white  powder  issued  from  the  limestone  and  flowed 
away  in  the  clear  rivulet,  toward  the  valley. 

The  men  went  upward.  In  a  beech  tree,  in  a  bower  of 
graybeard  lichen,  a  bird  of  paradise  flapped  and  spun,  caw- 
ing more  loudly  and  more  harshly  than  any  of  its  drab  crow 
kin  across  the  world;  the  sound  is  a  strange  grating  squeal, 
the  dominant  noise  of  the  mountain  forests.  Protruding  side- 
ways from  its  breast  like  a  brilliant  double-pointed  shield 
was  its  bib  of  iridescent  blue.  The  bib  flashed  against  the 
mist  which  felt  its  way  along  the  wall  above. 

•     173 


They  had  entered  the  cloud  forest:  here  the  clouds  con- 
vene in  all  but  a  few  hours  of  the  day.  The  mosses  flourish, 
climbing  from  a  dense  carpet  on  the  ground  to  thicken  the 
twigs  and  tree  trunks;  in  the  constant  damp,  the  mosses  have 
made  their  kingdom.  The  mossy  forest  drips  with  moisture; 
the  naked  men  moved  carefully,  avoiding  the  cold  branches. 

They  went  on  higher,  to  one  of  the  numerous  congrega- 
tions of  squared  boulders  on  the  hillside;  the  boulders  form 
natural  amphitheaters  of  great  majesty,  and  the  people 
choose  these  places  for  their  fires.  The  men  had  now  climbed 
very  high,  and  the  whole  course  of  the  Aike,  which  descends 
from  the  mountains  through  a  narrow  gorge,  twisted  out 
onto  the  plain  before  them. 

Supuk  built  a  fire,  using  dead  pandanus  leaf  and  gray- 
beard  lichen  for  his  tinder.  A  stick  split  at  the  end — a  stone 
holds  the  split  open — is  placed  on  the  ground,  the  tinder 
within  the  split,  and  a  strip  of  rattan  is  run  around  beneath: 
the  rattan,  one  end  taken  in  each  hand,  is  pulled  up  and 
down  until  a  spark  ignites  the  tinder,  which  is  protected 
from  the  wind  by  the  split  wood.  On  the  fire  Supuk  laid  the 
sapling,  to  dry  it  and  sear  its  bark. 

Tekman  Bio,  meanwhile,  had  found  a  fine  straight  laurel 
pole,  fourteen  feet  long  when  dressed;  with  Yeke  Asuk,  he 
split  it  down  its  length,  using  log  wedges.  One  piece  was 
split  again  in  two,  and  the  best  of  the  three  lengths  was  stood 
against  a  boulder  and  its  bark  chipped  away. 

Yeke  Asuk,  perched  on  a  rock,  carved  some  new  arrow 
points  from  a  split  piece  of  myrtle,  using  a  boar's-tusk 
scraper  which  he  carries  hooked  in  his  fur  armlet.  Yeke  Asuk 
avoided  the  heavy  work,  attributing  his  reticence  to  his  re- 
cent wounds.  Now  and  again  he  described  excitedly  to  Tek- 
man Bio  the  activities  of  the  enemy,  which  he  imagined  he 
could  see:  the  distance  was  great,  but  the  men  have  kept 
their  hunters'  eyes,  and  Yeke  Asuk  is  an  imaginative  man. 
174  m 


When  the  bulk  of  the  spear  pole  had  been  chipped 
away,  with  only  the  finer  work  remaining,  Tekman  Bio  laid 
it  on  his  shoulder;  Yeke  Asuk  took  up  the  adze  and  Tekman 
Bio's  spear,  and  the  boy  followed  them  down  the  mountain. 
The  rains  of  afternoon  were  gathering  on  the  rim,  and  they 
moved  swiftly.  On  the  way  Tekman  Bio  gathered  a  bundle 
of  coarse  grass,  which  will  be  used  in  the  last  stages  as  a  kind 
of  sandpaper. 

Early  in  the  morning  Tekman  Bio  brought  his  new 
spear  to  Homuak,  where  he  laid  it  in  the  waters  of  the 
spring.  He  broke  rocks  to  make  new  edges  and,  after  remov- 
ing the  spear  from  the  spring,  took  it  up  to  the  council  ledge 
above,  where  he  built  a  fire.  He  scraped  the  long  pole  with 
the  stones,  and  finally  he  rubbed  it  with  the  gritty  grass  to 
make  it  smooth. 

The  spear-rubbing  with  leno  or  hugi  grass  is  a  sugges- 
tive motion  to  the  akuni,  and  the  words  appear  in  a  kind  of 
chorus  to  a  sportive  song  which  Tekman  Bio  sang  softly  as 
he  worked.  The  song  concerns  two  promiscuous  women 
named  Kiluge  and  Yai-ige  who  give  themselves — lelokano 
— to  the  young  men  along  the  paths  "all  the  way  from  Ho- 
muak to  Abulopak": 

Kiluge  Jai-ige 
Homuak  lelokano 
Araken  arahalok 
Abulopak  lelokano 

(Vigorously):  Hugi  are  ara 
Leno  are  ara. 

The  shape  of  the  spear  was  still  unsatisfactory,  and 
with  the  stone  adze  Tekman  Bio  did  some  more  light  chip- 
ping. Again  he  scraped  the  whole  spear  with  a  boar's  tusk, 
and  especially  the  long  white  blade,  on  each  face  of  which 

m    us 


he  carved  two  facets,  so  that  the  cross  section  of  the  blade 
was  like  a  flattened  diamond.  All  this  work,  performed  stead- 
ily but  without  haste,  took  a  long  time,  and  it  was  not  until 
afternoon  that  he  took  a  substance  from  a  leaf  and  rubbed 
it  on  the  spear:  this  is  a  kind  of  wax  made  from  the  cocoon 
of  the  black  and  yellow  caterpillar,  a  creature  esteemed 
highly  as  a  food,  The  wax  is  thought  to  cure  the  wood,  and 
he  rubbed  it  painstakingly  all  over.  Warm  pig  fat  was  then 
applied,  for  the  grease  is  said  to  give  the  spear  resilience  and 
to  facilitate  its  final  straightening.  Finally  he  rubbed  on  an- 
other coat  of  wax,  turning  the  spear  carefully  against  the 
flames. 

On  the  day  following,  Tekman  Bio  helped  Werene  and 
Tegearek  with  the  heavy  work  in  their  new  gardens,  but  the 
day  after,  he  completed  his  new  spear.  He  pared  it  finer 
with  the  boar's  tusk,  bent  it  continually  at  the  fire,  and 
rubbed  it  all  over  again  with  the  magic  grease  of  pig.  At 
last  it  was  ready  for  its  simple  decoration.  Just  at  the  base 
of  the  long  blade  he  wound  a  sleeve  of  fern  pith,  copper- 
colored.  He  held  its  point  up  to  the  sky,  pleased  with  the 
feel  of  it,  with  the  knowledge  in  his  own  hands. 


176    m 


•  Tekman  Bio  had  left  his  new  spear  for  a  day  to 
help  Werene  and  Tegearek  in  their  new  gardens.  He  did  this 
out  of  friendly  obligation,  as  they  must  do  another  day  for 
him.  The  men  had  worked  in  these  gardens  for  a  month  or 
more,  between  wars  and  feasts,  etais  and  funerals,  and  only 
now  were  they  beginning  to  emerge  out  of  the  broken  litter 
of  dead  bushes.  The  roots  and  trash  had  been  removed,  and 
the  hiperi  beds,  laid  out,  were  climbing  slowly  with  the  ex- 
cavation of  the  ditches. 

Aloro  was  there,  with  Woluldek  and  Siloba,  toiling  and 
grunting.  Aloro  worked  savagely,  driving  his  hiperi  stick  like 
a  plunged  spear.  In  the  heavy  postures  of  field  labor  his 
shriveled  leg  swung  clumsily,  recalcitrant.  He  seemed  to 
sense  this  and  stumped  angrily  about  his  work.  Unlike  Aloro, 
Woluklek  worked  slothfully,  picking  and  poking  and  gazing 
philosophically  across  the  land,  while  Siloba,  laughing, 
worked  in  furious  fits  and  starts. 

The  men  dug  and  levered,  scraped  and  pried,  and  the 
sticks  thunked  stupidly  into  the  ground.  Tegearek  worked 
hard,  but  often  he  straightened  to  offer  an  opinion  he  had 
come  to,  usually  on  the  subject  of  war;  unlike  the  rest,  he 
found  it  hard  to  think  and  work  at  the  same  time. 

The  rain  came  swiftly  through  the  sun,  but  it  was 
transient  and  the  men  worked  on — not  against  time,  for  time 
is  not  of  meaning  in  the  valley,  or  against  seasons,  for  seasons 
are  weak  and  fitful,  untouched  by  laws  of  distant  springs, 
temperate  autumns.  The  men  worked  against  the  field  itself, 
the  weak  soil  of  it  and  the  wild  growth  which  would  not  re- 
linquish it  without  a  struggle,  nor  for  very  long. 

The  rain  passed.  The  sun  reflected  from  the  copper 

•     177 


wings  of  a  black  hornet,  from  the  thatch  of  a  small  shelter 
which,  in  this  light,  was  gold,  from  the  white  fiber  sleeves  at 
the  bases  of  the  long  spear  blades.  The  spears  were  planted 
at  the  corners  of  the  fields,  the  only  sharpness  in  the  swollen 
landscapes  of  hot  middle  day. 


•  Like  most  of  the  young  unmarried  men,  Walimo 
visits  a  good  deal  among  the  other  villages  and  sleeps  casu- 
ally in  the  pilai  where  night  finds  him.  Last  night  he  slept 
in  a  sili  of  the  Haiman,  beyond  the  Elokera,  but  this  time 
his  visit  was  not  casual.  The  village  belongs  to  Maitmo,  who 
fiercely  believes  that  Walimo  should  be  killed  for  having 
crossed  enemy  lands  to  visit  clansmen  on  the  far  side  of  the 
Baliein,  It  was  Walimo's  idea  to  sound  out  the  people  there 
in  order  to  keep  closely  in  touch  with  Maitmo's  state  of 
mind. 

It  appeared  that  Maitmo  still  held  the  same  opinion, 
and  Walimo  returned  to  the  southern  Kurelu  as  downcast 
as  before.  He  wandered  about  in  his  airy  way,  playful  and 
equable  as  ever:  Walimo  is  liked  by  everybody,  perhaps 
even  Maitmo  and  Wereklowe,  who  are  anxious  that  he  die- 
On  the  savanna  he  took  up  some  strands  of  sedge  and  wove 
grass  toys;  he  fashioned  a  tiny  decorative  basket,  a  replica 
of  the  men's  back  ppuch,  some  miniature  coil  skirts,  and  a 
cafs-cradle. 

When  his  toys  were  completed,  he  abandoned  them  to 
the  mice  and  insects,  trailing  homeward  toward  Hulibara, 

173    * 


II  In  eight  months  or  ten,  or  in  a  year,  a  mauwe 

feast  will  be  called  by  Kurelu.  The  most  elaborate  festival 
of  the  akuni,  the  mauwe  is  held  once  every  few  years, 
its  timing  determined  by  the  tribe's  need  of  the  cere- 
monies which  comprise  it  as  well  as  by  the  supply  of  pigs. 
Though  the  mauwe  is  called  formally  by  Kurelu,  it  is  cele- 
brated in  all  the  villages,  under  the  direction  of  the  local 
kains;  the  ceremonies  require  more  than  a  week,  and  the 
period  surrounding  the  mauwe  is  a  time  of  peace,  of  restora- 
tion and  renewal — from  the  sili  fence  and  buildings  and 
whatever  else  may  need  repair,  to  friendships  and  clan  rela- 
tionships— and  a  cleaning  of  the  holy  stones. 

The  ceremonies  of  the  mauwe  surround  the  initiation 
of  young  boys  and  girls  into  the  tribe,  followed  by  marriage 
of  the  eligible  girls;  there  are  no  spinsters,  for  no  girl  is  so 
poor  or  ugly  that  she  will  not  be  taken,  if  only  as  an  extra 
wife,  by  some  old  or  poor  or  ugly  man.  There  is  a  song  that 
the  young  men  sing: 

Where  are  all  the  young  girls  gone? 
We  danced  with  them  at  the  Liberek 
And  now  they  are  all  married. 
Well,  what  can  be  done, 
When  the  kains  take  all  the  women? 

The  initiation  of  the  girls  is  little  more  than  a  first  step 
in  their  marriage:  the  rush  skirt  is  removed  and  thrown 
away,  and  a  woman's  coil  skirt  given  in  replacement,  At  the 
next  mauwe  Loliluk's  Werekma  may  reach  womanhood  in 
this  way,  and,  if  she  wishes  it,  and  is  wished  in  turn,  she 
may  be  married.  The  marriage  is  arranged  between  the  f  aroi- 

•     179 


lies,  since  it  involves  a  complex  set  of  obligations  and  ex- 
change. The  arrangements  concluded,  Loliluk  will  cry  cere- 
monially at  his  loss,  and  matters  will  proceed. 

On  the  day  before  the  marriage  Werekma,  with  her 
mother  and  other  women  of  her  family,  will  be  presented  by 
her  male  relatives  with  a  large  amount  of  pig  meat;  this  is 
perhaps  the  one  time  in  her  life  when  Werekma  will  eat 
more  than  a  few  scraps  of  meat.  The  pigs  are  given  ordinarily 
by  the  girl's  brothers,  but  since  Natorek  and  Uwar  are  not 
yet  pig-owners,  the  animals  must  be  supplied  by  Loliluk 
himself.  Should  Loliluk  be  poor  at  the  time  of  mauwe,  the 
pigs  would  probably  be  given  by  U-mue,  as  the  kain  closest 
to  the  household,  though  U-mue  will  expect  to  be  repaid. 

The  following  day  Werekma  will  remain  at  home  in 
Wuperainma.  The  man — it  may  be  Walimo,  who  is  thinking 
these  days  of  marriage  and  who,  as  an  Alua  and  therefore 
waia,  is  eligible  to  marry  a  Wilil  girl — comes  to  Wuperainma, 
where  he  is  feted  with  fine  pig  meat;  he  is  accompanied  by 
sisters  or  other  female  members  of  his  family.  Werekma  re- 
mains inside  the  cooking  shed,  protesting  modesty  and  in- 
difference, but  after  a  while  she  wanders  out.  The  sisters 
then  ask  if  they  may  take  her  back  with  them  to  their  vil- 
lage, and,  when  permission  is  granted,  a  request  is  made  for 
all  her  property — not  only  the  nets,  ye  stones,  shell  goods 
that  she  may  have  been  given  by  her  family,  but  the  left- 
over pig  meat  of  the  late  feast.  Werekma  then  goes  off  with 
the  women,  while  the  man  remains  behind;  he  is  now  for- 
bidden his  own  village  and  must  skulk  about  in  other  pilais. 
His  family,  meanwhile,  holds  a  feast — part  of  the  mauwe — 
in  honor  of  Werekma.  In  two  or  three  days  the  husband  is 
sent  for  and  returns. 

With  Werekma  and  a  small  number  of  his  people,  he 
enters  a  new  ebeai  built  for  the  marriage.  The  couple  sit  to- 

780    B 


gether  on  her  net,  where  they  receive  marriage  instruction, 
including  the  advice  not  to  be  shy  with  each  other.  Pig  and 
hiperi  are  eaten  in  a  kind  of  marriage  supper,  and,  after  a 
few  hours  of  pleasant  conversation,  Werekma  will  be  left 
alone  with  her  new  husband.  At  this  time  Werekma  may  or 
may  not  be  a  virgin,  but,  as  she  is  a  self-righteous  child  of 
prudent  character,  she  probably  will  be,  and  the  first  night 
of  her  marriage  gives  every  promise  of  being  a  forlorn  one. 

Should  Werekma's  brother  Uwar  be  among  those  boys 
initiated  at  the  mauwe,  his  ordeal,  a  gentle  one,  will  be  ap- 
proximately as  follows. 

For  a  period  of  four  days  or  so  he  will  be  largely  con- 
fined to  the  lower  floor  of  U-mue's  pilai;  he  is  not  allowed  to 
go  up  into  the  loft,  for  he  is  meant  to  abstain  from  sleep  as 
best  he  can.  This  is  a  test  of  his  ability  to  undergo  privation. 
To  sustain  himself,  he  is  given  a  piglet  and  four  sweet  po- 
tatoes. He  may  go  out  to  relieve  himself,  and  for  a  period 
each  day  he  is  taken  to  a  field  with  other  boys,  where  they 
are  taught  the  niceties  of  war  and  ambush,  and  where  they 
join  for  the  first  time  in  a  kind  of  etai  and  fierce  dancing. 

At  the  end  of  this  period  he  will  be  required  to  shoot 
arrows  through  a  circlet  of  grass,  to  establish  his  skill  in  this 
most  important  regard:  from  now  on  he  may  go  to  war  if  he 
likes,  though  he  is  not  forced  to  do  so.  His  naini,  a  Siep-Kosi, 
will  be  present  and  will  present  him  with  his  own  bow  and 
arrows  and  a  ye  stone.  For  perhaps  half  an  hour  he  must 
stand  still,  with  the  bow  and  arrows  in  his  left  hand  and  the 
ye  stone  in  his  right.  The  nami  also  gives  him  a  small  net  bag 
for  his  belongings,  and  a  cowrie  belt,  which  is  wrapped 
around  his  head;  this  is  the  second  of  three  occasions  in  his 
life  on  which  he  wears  the  shell  belt,  the  others  being  birth 
and  death.  At  this  point  the  initiation  is  concluded,  and  pigs 
are  killed  and  eaten  in  celebration. 

•     187 


Throughout  this  period  of  initiations  and  marriage, 
purification  rituals  are  held  in  all  villages  holding  sacred 
stones,  with  a  continual  round  of  feasting  and  exchange  of 
goods  in  the  guise  of  gifts:  the  presentations  and  rewards, 
the  settlement  and  creation  of  obligations,  are  one  of  the 
main  reasons  for  the  mauwe.  Guests  and  relatives  are  enter- 
tained, for  visitors  come  to  mauwes  from  as  far  off  as  the 
Yalimo:  except  in  time  of  mauwe,  the  Yali  men,  in  their 
extraordinary  corsets  of  hard  hoops,  appear  very  infre- 
quently, on  trading  missions.  Every  effort  is  made  by  the 
great  kains  to  strengthen  ties  and  promote  good  feeling  and 
to  bury  the  more  dangerous  feuds,  which  weaken  the  whole 
tribe.  Pigs  are  awarded  by  the  kains  to  the  slayer  of  each 
enemy,  as  well  as  to  children  who  had  ears  or  fingers  cut 
in  sign  of  mourning.  Hundreds  of  pigs  are  slaughtered  dur- 
ing mauwe,  and  it  will  be  another  year  or  two  or  three  be- 
fore the  tribe  can  afford  another. 


7*2     fl 


•  A  woman  in  Hulibara,  village  of  Walimo7s  father, 
Yoli,  was  visited  last  night  by  a  man.  She  was  half  asleep 
when  he  crawled  up  into  her  sleeping-loft,  and  in  her  drowsi- 
ness she  did  not  pay  full  attention  to  him;  he  was  in  haste 
and  was  already  inside  her  when  it  came  to  her  that  he  was 
not  her  husband.  She  shouted  for  help,  and  another  woman 
in  the  ebeai  came  flying  to  her  assistance.  Between  them 
they  grasped  the  man,  but  with  their  cropped  fingers  they 
were  not  able  to  hold  him.  The  husbands  came  finally  from 
the  pilai,  but  by  this  time  the  intruder  had  departed,  leav- 
ing his  horim  behind. 

Though  there  is  really  not  much  hope,  horims  being 
difficult  to  trace,  the  villagers  are  most  anxious  that  the  man 
be  identified,  for  they  are  short  of  grease  and  in  dire  need 
of  the  pig  that  he  must  forfeit. 


•  Not  far  from  Lokoparek,  just  to  the  north,  the 
upper  Tabara  flows  through  the  forest,  under  the  mountain 
wall.  Here  a  man  named  Pumeka  came  to  cut  wood.  He  had 
been  working  for  some  days,  and  rough  laths  roughly 
pointed  at  both  ends  were  stacked  beneath  an  overhanging 
rock.  The  woodcutters  knew  of  the  techniques  of  ringing 
trees  or  building  fire  at  their  bases,  and  the  latter  method 
was  employed  infrequently  on  the  old  dead  giants  among 
the  beech  and  oak.  But  for  the  most  part  they  confined  them- 

V     1B3 


selves  to  smaller  laths,  to  which  their  building  had  long 
since  been  adapted. 

On  the  face  of  the  rock  where  Pumeka  stacked  his 
wood,  above  a  shallow  fire  site  protected  from  the  rain,  was 
a  rich  pattern  of  charcoal  drawings.  Most  of  the  drawings 
on  this  rock  had  been  done  in  the  past  year  by  the  boy 
Weneluke.  Of  all  the  rock  drawings  in  the  region,  these 
were  the  most  complex  and  original,  though  so  many  had 
been  made,  overlapping  one  another,  that  some  were  diffi- 
cult to  pick  out  from  the  rest.  Nevertheless,  rude  hu- 
man figures  were  discernible,  and  several  big  puna  lizards, 
and  some  pigs,  including  a  pig  splayed  open  with  its  ribs 
showing,  in  a  strong  pattern  quite  unlike  any  other  drawing 
on  the  fire  rocks.  There  was  a  sad-faced  woman  in  a  few 
simple  lines — head,  eyes,  nose,  and  genitalia — and  a  re- 
markable man,  nearly  four  feet  tall,  whose  head  and  arms 
had  been  blacked  in — this  technique,  too,  was  unusual — 
over  a  blank  ovoid  body,  like  a  great  spider  perched  atop  an 
egg.  This  drawing  was  so  unlike  anything  else  on  all  the 
rock  faces  that  Pumeka  at  first  imagined  the  black  thing  to 
be  not  a  human  head  but  an  awesome  sort  of  insect.  His  son 
then  pointed  out  the  inevitable  penis,  situated  in  this  case 
just  beneath  the  chin;  the  lower  body  appeared  to  have  been 
an  afterthought,  contributed  perhaps  by  another  artist. 

Pumeka,  whose  name  means  "Water  Snake,"  is  a  tooth- 
less, kindly  man  with  foolish  wrinkles  on  his  face  and  a  high, 
delighted  laugh.  He  is  a  village  kain  of  Sinisiek,  in  the  Kosi- 
Alua.  Though  he  has  a  withered  arm  and  cannot  fight,  he 
has  become  an  expert  woodcutter,  using  his  strong  left  side. 
The  Kosi-Alua,  living  far  out  on  the  valley  floor  where  the 
forest  has  disappeared,  are  in  constant  need  of  wood,  and 
Pumeka  spends  much  of  his  time  in  the  cloud  forest  near  the 
Tabara,  Sometimes  he  is  assisted  in  his  work  by  his  son  and 
by  one  or  more  old  men.  They  lop  the  branches  where  the 


184    m 


tree  falls  in  the  forest,  then  haul  the  poles  to  the  clearing 
where  Weneluke's  rock  drawings  are  located.  Here  the  bark 
is  beaten  with  a  heavy  chunk  of  wood,  to  soften  it,  after 
which  it  is  stripped  and  the  pole  leaned  against  one  of  the 
open  rocks,  out  in  the  sun,  to  cure. 

Pumeka  started  off  down  the  mountain,  bearing  on  one 
shoulder  a  long  tapered  pole  of  kai  and  on  the  other  his 
stone  adze;  he  moved  in  the  long,  swift  stride  of  the  akuni 
and  within  a  short  time  was  below  the  cloud  forest,  on  the 
hillside  tundra.  The  trail  followed  a  small  stream  bed,  and 
the  wet  white  sand  between  the  rocks  was  cool  beneath  his 
feet.  Down  he  went,  skirting  the  giant  boulders,  some  of 
them  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  on  through  the  cool  myrtle 
woods  of  the  lower  hill,  emerging  at  last  in  the  old  fields 
above  Homaklep.  Women  came  up  through  the  fields,  bound 
homeward  to  the  mountain  villages  with  their  vegetables, 
and  he  greeted  all  of  them  in  his  cheerful  toothless  way. 

Pumeka  is  dismissed  by  other  men,  as  all  cripples  but 
Aloro  are  dismissed,  with  a  wrinkling  of  the  nose  in  a  face 
jerked  sideways,  the  shrug  and  simultaneous  motion  of  the 
hand  back  past  the  face — Why  talk  about  him?  the  gesture 
seems  to  say.  But  he  is  liked  and,  in  his  way,  respected. 

He  strode  along  the  path  below  Wuperainma.  He  had 
not  eaten  since  early  morning,  and,  as  it  was  now  midafter- 
noon,  he  was  quite  hungry.  In  the  grove  grew  wild  rasp- 
berries and  the  small  puffball  mushrooms,  but  he  did  not 
stop  to  eat  them,  nor  did  it  occur  to  him  to  visit  in  Wupe- 
rainma. The  Wilil  and  the  Kosi-Alua  were  in  a  state  of  ten- 
sion, as  they  often  were,  due  most  recently  to  the  abduction 
by  Kosi-Alua  of  U-mue's  wife  Yuli  and  to  the  spearing  of  a 
Kosi  by  Tegearek  and  Yeke  Asuk:  the  Kosi  had  recovered, 
but  the  grudge  had  not  been  settled.  Furthermore,  now  that 
U-mue  had  established  his  new  pig  village  at  Lokoparek, 
he  was  trying  to  claim  that  the  forest  near  there  was  his  do- 


main;  lie  had  expressed  great  anger  that  the  Kosi-Alua 
should  use  it  without  asking  his  permission.  Husuk,  for  one, 
was  open  in  the  opinion  that  U-mue  was  kepu;  at  the  very 
mention  of  U-mue,  Husuk's  nose  wrinkled,  and  his  hand  rose 
past  his  face  as  if  waving  off  a  fly,  but  Husuk,  like  U-mue, 
was  an  intriguer,  maneuvering  for  future  power,  and  he  sup- 
pressed his  sardonic  smile  in  U-mue's  presence.  Neverthe- 
less, the  Kosi-Alua  went  right  on  cutting  wood.  For  all  these 
reasons,  Pumeka  would  not  have  felt  welcome  in  U-mue's 
village. 

Tukum  and  Supuk  were  coming  through  the  wood.  At 
the  edge  of  the  grove  they  stopped  and  shook  the  small 
willowy  trunks,  then  picked  up  the  large  stinkbugs  of  bril- 
liant green  which  rained  in  the  grass.  Passing  Pumeka,  the 
boys  offered  him  a  bug,  and  he  accepted  it.  Kain-a-laok, 
Pumeka  said,  sucking  in  his  breath:  the  phrase,  with  the 
sucking-in  of  breath  denoting  awe,  is  used  customarily  in 
accepting  a  gift,  whether  or  not  the  giver  is  a  kain,  for 
generosity  is  the  ultimate  sign  of  kainship.  The  stinkbug  had 
a  violent  smell  and  taste,  from  musk  secreted  from  its  glands, 
and  while  this  musk  had  evolved  across  millenniums  to  repel 
the  lean  stomachs  of  birds,  Pumeka  bit  into  the  bright  bug 
with  his  rear  teeth,  screwing  up  his  face  with  pleasure.  Kain- 
motok.  Pumeka  grinned.  Great  kain — the  exaggerated  phrase 
was  used  affectionately,  half  joking. 


•  The  knoll  of  Anelarok  lies  at  a  crossing  of  the 
paths,  a  way  station  where  the  warriors  pause  to  search  the 

186     • 


landscape,  to  build  a  fire,  to  smoke  at  midday  in  the  shade 
of  the  small  trees.  Here  women  dance  on  days  of  etai,  and 
the  yegerek  come  to  play  a  game  of  war. 

The  symplocos  tree  bears  quantities  of  seeds  like  small 
hard  olives.  Each  seed  represents  a  warrior,  and  the  yegerek, 
beneath  the  trees  where  the  grass  of  decades  has  been 
rubbed  away,  move  companies  of  warriors  about  in  sudden 
charges,  much  as  the  companies  move  up  and  down  the 
Waraba  or  Tokolik.  Sometimes  small  kaios  are  erected  and 
seeds  are  posted  on  the  high  straw  platforms. 

One  sunny  morning  Uwar  played  war  with  Weneluke, 
and  Kabilek  with  Supuk;  Natorek,  Uwar's  round  brother, 
large-eyed  as  a  cuscus,  sat  in  a  small  hole  between  the  war 
grounds.  Uwar  had  a  sharpened  stick,  a  dart,  and  this  he 
threw  into  the  ranks  of  Weneluke's  warriors;  Weneluke 
picked  it  up  and  drove  it  into  the  army  led  by  Uwar.  Now 
and  then  a  seed  would  be  run  through  and  was  carried  to 
the  side;  the  army  claiming  the  most  punctured  seeds  would 
win  the  game. 

During  the  battle  the  boys  kept  up  a  ceaseless  whistling 
and  sighing,  to  simulate  the  howls  and  chanting  of  real  war. 
Natorek  sighed  and  whistled  too,  and  now  and  then  reared 
up  to  hurl  an  impartial  pudgy  spear  into  one  side  or  the 
other,  only  to  be  banished  back  into  his  hole. 

Off  to  one  side  thin  Aloka,  blind  in  one  eye,  played  by 
himself.  A  root  emerged  from  the  bare  soil  between  his 
armies,  and  this  he  called  the  Waraba.  Aloka  is  jeered  at  for 
his  deformity,  as  Aloro  must  have  been,  but,  unlike  Aloro, 
he  is  timid  and  will  not  escape  from  his  condition. 

Perched  on  a  rock  beneath  the  tree,  in  black,  enigmatic 
silence,  the  war  kain  Husuk  watched  the  yegerek.  He  wore 
a  pair  of  long  sedge  tassels  in  his  hair,  like  horns.  Natorek, 
hissing  furiously,  rose  suddenly  from  his  hole,  his  spear  of 

•     187 


bent  grass  cocked  back  to  throw;  he  jockeyed  and  feinted 
on  his  tuberous  legs,  then  threw  himself  flat  to  escape  the 
arrow  that  his  recklessness  might  invite.  Husuk's  face 
twitched  briefly  in  a  smile;  he  turned  his  head,  as  he  had 
done  each  little  while,  and  gazed  across  the  fields  toward 
the  frontier. 

Weneluke  is  the  sensitive  boy  who  did  the  fine  rock 
drawings  near  Lokoparek;  he  stays  at  times  in  the  third  sili 
of  Wuperainma,  which  belongs  to  the  Wilil  wisakun,  old 
Elomaholan. 

Supuk,  son  of  Palek  of  Homaklep,  is  one  of  the  leaders 
of  the  yegerek,  a  boy  of  great  spirit  and  humor  whose  merry 
face  is  the  very  face  of  childhood.  Like  many  of  the  akuni, 
he  was  given  his  name  in  remembrance  of  an  event  in  the 
life  of  a  parent  or  nami — in  Supuk's  case,  his  mother. 

Supuk's  mother  was  originally  a  Wittaia  woman  who, 
unlike  U-mue's  wife  Ekapuwe,  came  to  the  Kurelu  of  her 
own  will.  A  woman  who  crosses  an  enemy  frontier  usually 
does  so  with  an  eye  to  suicide,  but  if  she  cries  out  that  she 
wishes  to  live,  and  takes  the  fancy  of  the  warriors,  she  may 
be  accepted  into  the  tribe.  Supuk's  mother  was  escorted  as 
far  as  a  village,  where,  her  charms  proving  inadequate,  it 
was  agreed  by  the  inhabitants  that  she  should  be  executed 
after  all. 

The  unlucky  woman  fled  into  an  ebeai  and  barred  the 
door.  The  villagers  besieged  the  door  and,  getting  nowhere, 
decided  at  last  to  get  at  her  from  above.  Without  further 
ado,  they  fell  upon  the  thatching  and  proceeded  to  dis- 
mantle that  part  of  the  roof  known  as  the  supuk.  At  this 
point  Wereklowe  happened  along  and  decried  what  they 
were  doing:  the  destruction  of  the  woman,  however  laud- 
able, did  not  justify  the  destruction  of  a  fine  ebeai.  The  peo- 
ple deferred  to  Wereklowe,  and,  cooler  heads  having  pre- 
vailed, the  poor  woman  was  given  a  pardon.  Later  she  mar- 

783     B 


ried  Palek,  a  hapless  man  without  a  wife,  and  their  first  child 
was  named  for  the  supuk  of  the  ebeai  which  had  saved  her 
life. 


•  Heavy  rains  of  the  dark  of  the  moon  had  delayed 
the  raid  which  was  to  avenge  Weake.  But  one  morning  the 
sun  glinted  in  an  iron  sky,  and  warriors  came  to  the  southern 
Kurelu  from  as  far  away  as  the  Loro-Mabell.  The  raid  was 
planned  for  Wittaia  fields  near  the  Aike,  and  parties  of  war- 
riors which  would  support  the  war  to  follow  assembled  in- 
obtrusively  at  Anelarok,  at  Puakaloba,  and  at  other  vantage 
points;  at  some  places  there  were  thirty  or  forty  warriors. 
The  men  moved  covertly,  in  small  bands,  so  as  not  to  alert 
the  Wittaia  sentries  on  the  hills  across  the  swamps.  One 
group  concealed  itself  in  the  stand  of  wild  sugar  cane,  close 
to  the  Aike,  where  the  Wittaia  had  lain  who  killed  Weake. 
This  is  a  pretty  place  just  above  the  winding  river,  but  to- 
day it  had  a  blasted  look  from  the  grass  fires  which  had 
burned  away  all  trace  of  Weake's  blood. 

The  raid  was  a  failure,  and  withdrew  almost  before  it 
started.  Asikanalek  had  led  a  band  to  the  top  of  the  Turaba, 
where  they  lay  in  ambush  for  any  passing  enemy,  but  the 
ambush  too  was  frustrated,  and  in  the  late  afternoon  they 
returned,  picking  their  way  nimbly  and  swiftly  down  among 
the  tumbled  badlands.  From  Puakaloba  the  men  watched 
them,  and  in  a  little  while  they  took  up  their  own  spears  and 
started  home. 

The  next  day,  despite  the  rain,  a  war  was  called.  Tek- 
man  Bio  was  delighted,  as  the  war  would  give  him  his  first 
chance  to  carry  his  new  spear. 

•     789 


Because  of  Weake,  the  Kurelu  had  its  heart  set  on  a 
kill,  and  though  the  war  was  a  formal  one,  to  be  fought  ac- 
cording to  the  ancient  pattern,  a  preliminary  ambush  had 
been  prepared.  Led  by  Weaklekek,  a  party  crept  up  the  east 
fiank  of  the  Waraba,  under  cover  of  an  advance  goup  which, 
in  plain  view,  had  taken  possession  of  the  north  end  in  the 
usual  manner:  the  men  went  up  the  grass  slope  on  their  bel- 
lies. Weaklekek  wore  his  shell  bib  on  his  back,  and  Asukwaji, 
finding  himself  encumbered,  took  off  his  horim  and  carried 
it  in  his  spear  hand.  The  plan  was  to  assault  in  sudden  num- 
bers the  few  Wittaia  who  would  dance  out  in  the  first  forays. 

Meanwhile  a  second  ambush  party  was  stalking  the 
Waraba  from  the  north.  An  hour  earlier  Nilik  had  come  to 
the  Kosi-Alua  kaio  nearest  the  Waraba,  where  he  was  met 
by  Maitmo  and  Wereklowe  with  nearly  a  hundred  men. 
Wereklowe  was  very  excited  and  talked  ceaselessly,  walking 
in  and  out  among  the  warriors;  at  one  point  he  scrambled  up 
the  kaio  like  a  boy,  to  look  over  the  situation  for  himself.  The 
Wittaia  warriors  were  visible  from  the  kaio,  a  dark  crest  of 
black  bodies  and  long  spears  on  the  far  southern  knoll  of  the 
Waraba.  Wereklowe  jumped  down  again,  and,  after  a  brief 
discussion  with  the  other  kains,  he  told  the  ambush  party  to 
move  forward.  They  crept  out  in  small  bands,  keeping  low, 
dragging  their  spears  behind  them  by  the  tips.  Farther  on 
these  warriors  were  joined  by  Husuk  and  his  men,  and  the 
entire  party  slid  silently  into  the  low  wood  which  adjoins  the 
flats  on  the  inside  corner  of  the  Waraba.  In  theory,  Wittaia 
warriors  advancing  toward  the  crest  above  would  be  cut 
off  in  pincers. 

But  the  first  party  had  been  discovered  by  the  Wittaia, 
who  were  now  on  the  alert;  when  the  skirmishing  started, 
they  avoided  the  lower  woods,  Wereklowe  went  forward 
from  the  northern  knoll,  speaking  under  his  breath  with  a 
soft  fierc©  intensity.  Erne,  he  said,  erne.  Come.  Nilik  fol- 
190  m 


lowed,  spectral  and  bony  against  a  hellish  rain  smoke  on  the 
northern  rim;  the  rain  came  and  went  all  afternoon,  but 
neither  side  withdrew.  In  the  downpours  the  men  retired, 
but  they  did  not  retire  very  far;  they  wrenched  tall  grasses 
from  the  ground  and  held  these  on  their  heads  to  guard 
their  feathers. 

Asikanalek  and  Huonke  led  the  fighting  on  the  heights. 
This  is  not  a  usual  position  for  Huonke,  but  today,  as  the 
uncle  of  Weake,  he  was  obliged  to  choose  the  forefront 
Aloro,  as  usual,  was  down  on  the  lower  flats,  where  the  fight- 
ing is  closer  and  where  the  terrain  is  better  suited  to  his  bad 
leg.  He  had  brought  a  spear,  but  on  the  battle  line  itself 
another  warrior  lent  to  him  a  bow  and  arrows.  Aloro  moved 
forward  with  his  curious  oblique  gait,  the  bow,  with  its  ar- 
row poised  and  set,  held  in  one  strong  hand  where  bow  and 
arrow  met;  with  the  other  hand,  which  held  spare  arrows, 
he  could  snap  the  bowstring  in  a  second. 

A  few  yards  to  his  right  the  ambush  party  hid;  a  sus- 
pense hung  upon  the  ridge,  in  the  gray  pall.  Aloro  tried  to 
lure  the  Wittaia  men  who  faced  him  to  a  point  at  which  they 
might  successfully  be  cut  off  and  overwhelmed,  but  the 
Wittaia  remained  wary  and  skirted  wide.  What  they  did  not 
imagine  was  the  large  numbers  of  the  ambush  party,  and 
when  suddenly  the  bushes  burst  and  fifty  or  sixty  men 
charged  at  their  flank,  they  howled  in  alarm  and  bolted.  The 
main  body  of  the  Kurelu  howled  also,  rushing  forward  in 
support;  they  streamed  in  waves  along  the  hillsides  and 
across  the  rocks,  pouring  down  the  rain  horizon.  Polik  ran 
after  them,  bawling  orders  like  a  man  possessed. 

The  Wittaia,  outnumbered,  fled  in  panic,  and  the  Ku- 
relu swept  them  back  almost  a  mile;  though  the  enemy  tried 
briefly  to  hold  the  final  knoll,  they  were  soon  driven  off, 
pursued  by  the  screeching  Kurelu  onto  the  flats.  They  made 
sporadic  efforts  to  recoup  and  return,  but  they  were  badly 


demoralized.  The  Kurelu,  far  stranger,  held  the  heights,  and 
the  day  was  won. 

Despite  the  victory,  no  warrior  of  the  enemy  had  been 
run  down  and  killed,  and  the  returning  warriors  were  dis- 
gruntled. A  number  of  the  enemy  had  been  wounded,  how- 
ever, and  on  the  Kurelu  side  several  men  had  been  hurt. 
Feckless  Siloba  had  an  arrow  in  his  shin,  and  Werene,  car- 
ried away  to  an  unusual  degree  by  the  exhilaration  of  the 
rout,  returned  with  a  wound  in  his  shoulder.  The  stunned 
man,  in  the  thick  of  things  for  the  first  time  that  the  akuni 
could  remember,  drew  as  much  attention  to  the  wound  as 
possible,  under  cover  of  outrage  and  anger;  he  was  plainly 
delighted  by  the  prestige  that  had  come  his  way  through  his 
own  miscalculation,  and  was  determined  to  make  the  most 
of  it. 

One  warrior  was  all  but  pierced  through  by  an  arrow 
entering  below  the  collarbone;  he  was  carried  back  on  an- 
other's shoulders,  supported  on  both  sides.  Aloro  tried  to  re- 
move the  arrow,  using  sharp  bamboo  splinters.  He  picked 
and  pried,  and  the  blood  came,  but,  though  he  probed 
deeply,  the  shaft  remained.  Another  man,  feeling  in  the 
back,  located  the  arrow  point  beside  the  shoulder  blade,  and 
the  onlookers  remarked  on  this  excitedly.  Bending  forward, 
Aloro  tried  to  grasp  the  broken  splinter  with  his  teeth;  he 
came  away  with  bloody  lips.  Yeke  Asuk  squatted  nearby, 
giving  advice,  while  Tuesike,  who  in  the  previous  moon  had 
sat  with  an  arrow  in  his  stomach  only  a  few  feet  from  this 
spot,  looked  on  in  silence.  Tekman  Bio  came,  and  Aloro 
ceded  his  place:  Tekman  Bio  picked  and  worried  at  the 
arrow  and  was  able,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  to  grasp  and 
withdraw  it  with  his  teeth.  The  blood  started,  and  leaves 
were  brought  to  stanch  the  wound. 

Uwar  stood  watching  on  the  slope  above,  arms  wrapped 
around  his  neck,  hands  clasped  on  his  nape;  his  elbows  were 

192     • 


pressed  together  before  his  chin.  All  akuni  assume  this  pos- 
ture when  they  are  cold,  in  evening  and  early  morning  and 
in  rain,  but  the  children  adopt  it  also  when  they  are  thought- 
ful. 

A  man  brought  sphagnum  from  the  swamp,  and  the 
wounded  man  was  sponged  with  its  cold  water.  He  was  then 
stood  upon  his  feet.  Two  men  grasped  folds  of  his  stomach 
skin  and  pinched  them  hard,  and  these  Tekman  Bio  sawed 
through  with  a  bamboo  sliver,  in  three  places,  to  bleed  out 
the  black  blood.  The  splinter  was  then  inserted  into  one 
wound  and  jabbed  upward  into  the  abdomen,  to  bring  more 
blood;  the  warrior  went  weak  in  the  knees  and  sank  down  to 
the  ground.  He  coughed  harshly,  vomiting  white  fluid.  More 
moss  was  brought  to  wash  away  the  blood,  and  a  stretcher 
was  prepared  behind  him;  the  men  chewed  strands  of  cane 
to  soften  them,  and  these  were  strung  loosely  between  two 
parallel  poles  braced  at  each  end  with  three  short  sticks. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  operation  the  man  had  remained 
entirely  stoic,  frowning  without  outcry,  and  talking  now  and 
then  in  a  quiet,  controlled  voice.  When  Tekman  Bio  bled 
him,  he  did  not  cry  out  either,  but  his  face  was  shrunk  with 
agony.  He  ground  his  teeth  loudly,  and  his  toes  clawed  at 
the  ground.  His  resistance  was  failing  fast,  as  if  at  any  mo- 
ment he  must  scream.  They  had  bled  him  on  the  field  of  war 
because  his  wound  was  thought  a  serious  one;  another  man 
came  forward  and  blew  into  his  ear,  oo-Phuh,  oo-Phuh. 

Pumeka  the  Woodcutter  squatted  beside  the  wounded 
man,  clutching  his  own  crippled  wrist,  his  merry  toothless 
face  clownish  with  pity,  while  Limo,  passing,  scarcely 
glanced  aside,  erect  and  expressionless  as  a  god. 

They  bandaged  the  man  with  leaves  and  laid  him  in  the 
stretcher,  which  had  been  lined  with  grass;  more  grass  was 
laid  on  top  of  him,  covering  his  face,  and  the  whole  parcel 
lashed  around  with  thongs.  Toward  dusk  the  faceless  shape 

•     793 


was  borne  off  through  the  swamps.  He  was  one  of  Kurelu's 
men,  from  the  north,  but  the  warriors  who  had  treated  him 
did  not  know  his  name. 


I  Siba's  boar  was  sick  and  finally  died.  Siba  kept 
the  fact  as  quiet  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  have  to  share  the 
meat  with  the  half -hundred  people  who,  getting  wind  of  it, 
might  happen  to  pass  by,  and  who,  according  to  the  codes 
of  hospitality,  might  be  refused  only  with  rudeness.  The  men 
of  Siba's  sili  were  welcome  to  a  share  of  it,  and  a  few  others 
were  invited  also.  The  men  of  U-mue's  sili  he  did  not  invite, 
and  most  of  the  latter  went  out  to  work  in  the  field  of  Yeke 
AsuL  U-mue  himself  heard  the  news  of  the  dead  boar  from 
Aloro  when  their  paths  chanced  to  cross  at  Homuak,  and 
though  he  was  annoyed  at  not  having  known  about  the  feast 
— U-mue  likes  very  much  to  know  of  everything — he  did  not 
loiter  in  the  vicinity  in  order  to  get  invited. 


•  One  night  not  long  ago  in  Wuperainma,  Ekali 
left  the  pilai  to  visit  his  young  wife.  Ekali  is  neither  young 
nor  brave,  nor  is  he  as  potent  as  he  has  been,  and  this  fine 
evening  his  wife  decided  that  she  would  not  receive  him. 
She  barred  the  door  of  his  ebeai  and  listened  to  him  shout. 
Barring  the  door  is  a  common  recourse  of  disgruntled 

194    • 


wives  and  is  usually  the  occasion  for  a  loud  commotion;  all 
up  and  down  the  sili  yard  the  heads  pop  in  and  out  and 
voices  fly,  and  marital  disputes  on  all  sides  get  an  airing. 
The  men  take  the  part  of  the  husband  and  bellow  about 
their  rights,  while  the  women  take  advantage  of  this  oppor- 
tunity to  laugh  at  them.  In  spite  of  the  fierceness  of  the  din, 
almost  everyone  is  amused  except  the  husband,  thwarted 
at  his  own  portal  under  the  naked  moon;  since  the  door  is 
small  and  there  is  no  practicable  way  to  force  it,  he  has  the 
poor  choice  of  retreat  or  setting  fire  to  his  own  property. 
Unless  he  is  in  a  position  to  lend  force  to  his  fulminations, 
he  must  retreat,  and  this  is  what  befell  poor  Ekali.  He  did 
not  even  have  the  satisfaction,  in  the  morning,  of  thrashing 
his  young  wife  soundly  with  a  stick,  for  he  knows  very  well 
that  the  first  time  he  should  try  it  would  be  the  last.  She  is  a 
pretty  woman  and  would  not  hesitate  to  run  away,  for  she 
can  easily  find  another  husband.  It  is  the  opinion  of  her 
neighbors  that  she  may  leave  Ekali  soon  in  any  case. 


795 


H  Tamugi  has  had  a  small  pig  stolen  and  wanders 
about  seeking  sympathy  or  staring  vacantly  at  one  and  all, 
as  if  unable  to  comprehend  his  loss,  much  less  the  idea  that 
anyone  could  play  him  such  a  trick.  His  suspicion  is  that  the 
pig  was  taken  by  the  elege,  big  wayward  youths  like  Siloba 
and  Yonokma,  and  devoured  in  some  dark  feast  in  the 
woods,  but  he  cannot  account  sensibly  for  this  intuition,  and 
no  one  takes  his  anguish  very  seriously. 

The  case  is  reversed  with  Walimo,  whose  plight  has 
worried  the  whole  region.  Eight  pigs,  the  entire  herd  of  Wa- 
limo and  his  father  Yoli,  were  taken  from  the  fallow  fields 
near  Hulibara,  and  this  is  the  least  serious  aspect  of  the  mat- 
ter: the  pigs  were  not  stolen  but  seized,  in  the  light  of  noon, 
by  men  of  Amoli,  as  if  the  small  boy  tending  them  had  not 
been  there  at  all.  Amoli,  kain  of  the  Haiman  under  Maitmo, 
lives  just  across  the  river  in  Hulainmo. 

The  seizure  seems  to  be  a  provocation  on  the  part  of 
Maitmo.  Walimo  can  disregard  the  act,  but  if  he  does  so  he 
will  be  much  poorer  and  he  will  be  thought  kepu:  even 
should  this  high  price  be  acceptable,  his  chances  of  forgive- 
ness would  not  be  improved  but  lessened. 

His  alternative  is  to  muster  such  assistance  as  he  can 
and  either  attempt  to  retrieve  his  pigs  or  seize  eight  others. 
But  this  is  not  an  ordinary  theft,  and,  since  Amoli  is  very 
much  more  powerful  than  Walimo,  reprisal  might  well  end 
in  the  latter's  death.  Walimo's  father,  Yoli,  is  the  village  kain 
of  Hulibara,  but  he  is  not  a  steadfast  man,  nor  is  he  likely  to 
stand  up  strongly  for  his  son:  Yolfs  first  act,  when  he  heard 
of  his  son's  peril,  was  to  retire  to  his  new  village  in  the  moun- 
tains, out  of  harm's  way.  And  while  the  men  of  the  southern 


Kurelu  are  fond  of  Walimo  and  give  him  sympathy,  they  are 
afraid  of  Maitmo,  and  they  know  too  that  their  own  war 
kain,  Wereklowe,  shares  Maitmo's  conviction  that  Walimo 
should  be  killed.  For  these  reasons,  in  addition  to  the  fact 
that  Walimo's  guilt  is  recognized,  the  chances  are  that  he 
will  find  no  friends  to  help  him, 

Walimo  has  lost  his  careless  air,  and  looks  like  the 
frightened  boy  he  is.  His  whimsical  smile  is  fleeting  and  un- 
happy, and  his  hand  strays  continuously  about  his  body,  rub- 
bing his  knee  as  he  squats,  or  running  a  finger  along  the  side 
of  his  nose. 


PI  Aku,  small  net  on  her  back,  trudged  up  into  the 
mountains  to  fetch  beech  fagots  and  lisanika  leaves  to  wrap 
tobacco;  she  was  accompanied  by  her  uncle,  Yeke  Asufc, 
whose  work  on  his  fields  is  temporarily  at  an  end.  At  Sulaki 
they  met  Huonke  starting  downhill  with  a  herd  of  pigs.  Yeke 
Asuk  talked  with  Huonke  while  Aku  chattered  at  an  old 
woman  of  the  village:  the  woman  was  preparing  banana 
stalks  for  a  journey  to  the  salt  wells  the  next  day.  Strips  of 
stalk  are  used  to  absorb  the  brine,  but  before  the  stalk  is 
peeled  it  is  scraped  down  with  a  rough  stick  to  break  its  hard 
glossy  surface.  This  the  old  woman  was  doing.  The  long 
stalk  leaned  against  a  rock,  while  Aku  stood  on  top  of  the 
rock  itself,  belly  and  behind  gracefully  protruded,  hands 
folded  on  the  top  of  her  quick  head.  Yeke  Asuk  hissed  at  her 
to  come,  and  they  started  off  again.  Aku  kept  her  hands  on 
top  of  her  head,  and  Yeke  Asuk  marched  along  with  his  arms 
folded  behind  his  back. 

•     197 


The  slope  was  grassy,  and  its  limestone  soil  was  reddish 
with  a  tint  of  iron;  on  the  path  the  soil  was  greasy  from  the 
rains,  but  Aku  skipped  upward  lightly,  a  new  gold  skirt  of 
rushes  at  her  hips.  On  the  spine  of  the  ridge  they  met  two 
men  bound  for  the  high  forest  with  their  adzes.  The  four 
moved  eastward,  up  the  slow  incline  of  the  rim,  to  a  small 
village  nestled  in  a  cleft:  this  was  the  pig  village  of  Patosaki. 
Here,  just  outside  the  village,  they  came  upon  two  crotched 
poles,  in  the  clefts  of  which  were  rat  bodies  turning  to  skele- 
tons in  brown,  dry  nests. 

These  mountain  villages,  of  which  Lokoparek  is  the 
largest,  are  largely  inhabited  by  pigs  and  women,  who  are 
put  there  for  their  own  safekeeping.  At  Patosaki,  which  is 
owned  by  Tegearek  and  Asok-meke,  the  piglets  had  been 
growing  very  slowly,  and  Tegearek  at  last  decided,  with  the 
assistance  of  Asok-meke,  that  the  failure  of  the  piglets  was  a 
consequence  of  eating  rats.  Rats  were  not  bad  for  pigs, 
which  hunt  out  and  eat  with  relish  almost  anything,  but  the 
ghosts  of  their  rodent  victims  had  banded  together  in  re- 
venge against  the  pigs  and  conspired  against  the  piglets* 
growth.  To  warn  the  rat  ghosts  that  he  is  on  to  them,  and  to 
banish  their  influence  from  Patosaki,  Tegearek  had  erected 
these  two  poles.  If  this  precaution  does  not  work,  Yeke  Asuk 
informed  his  niece,  then  Tegearek  will  be  driven  to  sterner 
measures* 

A  short  distance  above  Patosaki  the  clouds  awaited 
them  like  mountain  fogs,  and  the  forest  changed.  The  forest 
was  ruled  by  oaks  and  beeches:  in  a  weak  sunlight  glinting 
through  the  mist  shone  yellow  young  leaves  of  the  oak  and 
the  new  red  leaves  of  the  beech,  cresting  great  trees  which 
arose  from  a  subsidiary  gorge  beyond  the  rim. 

Aku  walked  on  a  narrow  spine  between  two  worlds,  the 
cloud  forest  below  her  on  her  left  and  the  sunlit  floor  of  the 
wide  valley  far  below  her  on  her  right. 

798     H 


The  woodcutters  followed  a  trail  far  back  into  the 
beech  forest,  and  Yeke  Asuk  and  Aku  pursued  them  a  short 
way;  they  paused  among  the  buttressed  roots  of  taH  pale 
beeches,  awed  by  the  silence  of  the  mossy  floors.  Strange 
bird  calls,  of  a  liquid  note  heard  rarely  in  the  valley,  rang 
here  and  there,  but  the  only  birds  visible  were  parakeets, 
hurtling  through  the  canopy  in  nervous  bands,  like  green 
leaves  taken  wing.  In  the  air,  dense  as  cold  smoke,  hung  the 
rich  dark  fungus  smell  of  mossy  earth  and  wood  decay;  Aku 
wrapped  her  thin  arms  about  her  neck.  Around  them,  sink- 
ing beneath  beds  of  moss,  lay  fallen  trunks  of  beech;  the  fine 
red  wood  of  all  these  trees,  girdled  and  killed  long,  long  be- 
fore, would  be  split  and  hauled  to  Patosaki  and  the  villages 
below. 

Yeke  Asuk  and  Aku  wandered  toward  the  rim.  Already 
Aku  had  gathered  her  lisanika,  back  on  the  grassy  ridges, 
and  the  woolly  leaves  were  tucked  into  her  net;  a  few  steps 
earlier  she  had  come  on  a  fresh-fallen  limb  of  beech,  and 
from  this  she  had  snapped  and  wrestled  a  large  bundle  of 
good  fagots.  Aku  placed  some  ferns  upon  her  head,  and 
Yeke  Asuk  placed  her  heavy  bundle  on  the  ferns.  He  pre- 
ceded his  niece  along  the  rim,  bandy-legged  and  self-assured, 
his  arms  still  folded  behind  his  back.  Once  he  paused  to 
powder  his  shell  bib  with  the  white  spores  of  a  lycopod; 
then  on  he  went,  the  burdened  child  tottering  behind  him 
like  a  bundle  of  sticks  with  legs. 

They  perched  on  a  rock  lookout.  Behind  them,  the  stone 
tools  of  the  woodcutters  resounded  from  the  forest,  like  the 
hollow  tok  .  .  .  tok  of  the  nightjar  calling  at  night  from 
Homuak.  They  were  now  above  seven  thousand  feet,  and 
Lokoparek  lay  eight  hundred  feet  below  them.  They  called 
out  to  Aku's  father,  who  was  working  there — U-mue-a-oo. 
U-mue  did  not  answer,  but  a  woman  responded  with  a  long, 
impassioned  outcry;  high  on  their  pinnacle,  Yeke  Asuk  and 

•     199 


Aku  nudged  each  other,  laughing.  Against  the  deep  moun- 
tain silences  the  words  of  the  woman  wandered,  and  the 
voice  thinned  to  a  wail  of  mortal  bitterness. 


•  Tekmcm  Bio's  tribal  father,  who  lives  in  the  village 

of  Abulopak,  is  getting  old,  and  as  the  holy  stones  belonging 
to  him  will  go  to  Tekman  Bio  as  well  as  to  his  own  son,  Yo- 
nokma,  and  as  it  is  more  suitable  that  a  man  move  to  the  vil- 
lage of  the  stones  rather  than  vice  versa,  Tekman  Bio  is 
preparing  now  to  move  away  from  Wuperainma.  In  the  past 
few  weeks  he  has  constructed  a  new  sili  leading  off  the  great 
yard  of  Wereklowe,  directly  opposite  the  one  in  which 
Weake  died.  The  cooking  shed  was  completed  a  little  while 
ago,  and  today,  with  the  completion  of  the  pilai,  a  consecra- 
tion ceremony  was  held. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning  Tekman  Bio,  accompanied 
by  Tuesike,  came  from  Wuperainma  with  a  pig.  Polik,  who 
is  Tekman  Bio's  uncle — they  are  both  of  the  clan  Halluk — 
was  already  at  the  new  sili,  and  Wereklowe,  who  has  strong 
ties  with  the  Halluk,  came  shortly  after,  from  his  own  pilai 
across  the  fence. 

The  kains  gathered  in  the  new  pilai  built  sturdily  of 
chestnut  laths  and  beams  of  oak,  with  a  cane  ceiling  and  a 
cone  roof  of  saplings  and  thick  thatch.  Already  the  pig  jaws 
of  past  feasts  had  been  brought  from  the  old  pilai  of  Yo- 
nokma's  father,  and  with  them  his  collection  of  ye  stones; 
the  stones  and  jaws  lined  the  rear  of  an  otherwise  bare  wall. 
As  yet,  the  new  pilai  has  not  acquired  the  fine  dense  smell 
of  tobacco  and  men  and  woodsmoke. 


200     • 


The  Halluk's  wisakun  old  men  arrived  and  were  greeted 
warmly,  with  handshakes  and  embraces  and  the  gentle,  soft 
wah-h,  wah-h.  Wereklowe,  who  cannot  sit  still,  fell  to  split- 
ting bamboo  sections  to  make  knives;  he  used  a  pig-bone 
scraper,  pounding  it  down  the  length  of  the  upright  bamboo 
with  his  gnarled  hand.  Some  of  the  large  sacramental  hiperi 
for  the  feast  were  brought  into  the  hut,  and  at  the  sight  of 
them  Polik  started  a  new  chant  of  approval,  a  short  fast 
wah-wdh-wah,  noro-a,  noro-a,  less  because  he  looked  for- 
ward to  the  eating — in  the  course  of  a  feast  Polik  is  apt  to 
stand  quietly,  hands  behind  his  back,  observing  the  seated 
men — than  because  he  rarely  avoids  an  opportunity  to  chant 
or  sing. 

Outside,  Tekman  Bio  and  Tuesike,  with  Yonokma  and 
his  friends,  were  hacking  down  banana  trees  to  make  room 
for  the  new  cooking  pit;  this  part  of  the  yard  had  not  been 
cleared  as  yet  and  will  eventually  be  occupied  by  ebeais. 
More  men  arrived,  most  of  them  old;  there  were  few  war- 
riors other  than  Tekman  Bio's  own  close  friends.  The  men 
passed  ceremonially  around  the  group  seated  before  the  pi- 
lai,  taking  hands  and  murmuring  low  greetings.  This  cour- 
tesy is  no  less  pure  for  being  protocol:  the  affection  is  there, 
and  the  will  to  show  it,  for  these  men  have  counted  on  one 
another  in  the  past  and  will  do  so  again  before  too  long.  A 
day  earlier  a  Kosi-Alua  had  died  of  an  arrow  wound  suffered 
four  days  before  at  the  Waraba,  and  in  his  village,  a  few 
miles  across  the  fields,  was  seated  at  this  moment  in  his  final 
sun.  Including  Weake,  there  were  now  two  who  would  have 
to  be  revenged, 

Wereklowe  emerged  from  the  pilai  with  a  bow  and 
arrows,  but  he  did  not  kill  the  seven  pigs;  at  the  last  moment 
he  presented  the  bow  to  one  of  his  men.  To  kill  the  pigs  is  a 
small  honor  which  may  be  transferred,  and  the  man  was 
surprised  and  very  nervous.  His  face  trembled  as  he  drew 

•   201 


his  bow,  but  nevertheless  he  worked  efficiently,  and  the  pigs 
died  quickly.  The  rock  fire  was  ready,  and,  while  it  cooked, 
the  holy  stones,  wrapped  in  their  packets,  were  brought  to 
the  new  pilai.  The  rock  fire  was  opened  in  midafternoon, 
and  the  elege  served  the  hiperi  and  pig  and  fern,  depositing 
the  food  quietly  in  the  center  of  grass  circles  around  which 
the  men  sat.  As  usual,  there  was  no  haste  or  greed;  only  Si- 
loba's  old  father,  he  of  the  extruded  rectum,  seemed  more 
intent  on  his  share  of  the  food  than  on  the  talk.  He  squatted 
by  himself,  small  eyes  flicking  back  and  forth  and  old  loose 
muzzle  sliding  over  and  around  the  shank  of  bone. 

A  mild  rain  came,  despite  Polik,  who  called  out  to  the 
sky  that  it  should  stop:  his  craggy  face  was  silhouetted  on 
the  storm  clouds,  the  big  face  of  a  leader.  Hah!  Miso  Ian! 
Hah!  Legasinl  Rain,  go  away!  At  the  end  of  the  feast  Polik 
took  grease  from  the  warn  wisa  and  cleaned  the  holy  stones. 
The  holy  stones  were  now  restored,  and  good  fortune  would 
befall  the  Halluk  warriors. 


202 


I  Asikanalek's  old  father,  in  recent  moons,  has  been 
too  weak  to  move  from  his  son's  pilai;  a  woman,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  this  situation,  stole  hiperi  from  the  old  man's  gar- 
den. The  other  women  caught  her  at  it  and  were  very  angry, 
and  when  Asikanalek  got  wind  of  it  he  went  out  to  the  gar- 
dens and  beat  her  with  a  stick.  The  women  cheered  him  on, 
and  when  he  gave  it  up  at  last  and  went  away,  the  quiet  air 
of  early  afternoon  was  rent  by  the  squalling  of  the  culprit. 
Ekapuwe,  the  wife  of  U-mue,  was  among  the  spectators  and 
expressed  for  some  time  afterward  a  loud  and  cheerful  satis- 
faction over  the  outcome  of  the  matter,  A  few  weeks  later 
the  guilty  woman  ran  away  to  the  Siep-Kosi. 


H  Kctbilek,  son  of  Ekali,  who  may  be  twelve,  wishes 
now  to  be  known  to  his  people  as  Lokopma.  The  latter  name 
will  commemorate  the  death  of  Kabilek's  nami,  who  was 
killed  in  a  Wittaia  raid  near  a  stand  of  lokop  cane,  or  "place 
of  cane" — lokop-ma.  Kabilek  sees  no  reason  to  retain  his 
present  name,  Kabi-lek,  which  means  *Sharp  Not,"  or  Dull. 
While  the  people  try  as  best  they  can  to  adapt  to  the  fre- 
quent name  changes,  the  chances  are  that  Kabilek  will 
henceforth  go  by  two  names  rather  than  one.  This  is  com- 
mon enough:  Asikanalek  is  also  known  as  Walilo,  U-mue  as 
Wali,  Polik  as  Mokat 

Yeke  Asuk  too  is  in  the  process  of  a  name  change, 

•    203 


though  his  reasons  are  quite  different.  Having  been  wounded 
twice  in  recent  months,  he  has  decided  that  Yeke  Asuk  is  an 
unlucky  person  and  that  he  will  fare  better  under  the  name 
of  Iki,  which  means  "Finger/' 

A  few  days  after  Kabilek  and  Yeke  Asuk  decided  to 
change  their  names,  Tukum  announced  that  he  was  hence- 
forth to  be  dealt  with  under  the  name  of  Pua.  Tukum  lek, 
he  growled  at  everyone.  An  etara  Pua.  I  am  called  Pua. 
When  asked  the  reason  for  the  change,  he  said,  Mel  .  .  . 
mel  .  .  .  mel  .  .  .  Welegat.  Unlike  all  other  name  words 
among  the  akuni,  the  word  Pua  means  absolutely  nothing, 
though  Tukum  himself  insists  that  it  means  "Mud." 

Some  time  afterward,  Tukum  admitted  that  he  had 
named  himself  in  memory  of  his  friend  Weake;  Pua  was 
short  for  Puakaloba,  the  kaio  near  which  Weake  had  died. 


•  A  Wittaia  man  died  in  the  first  days  of  July,  but 
he  had  been  wounded  in  the  northern  wars,  and  the  south- 
ern Kurelu  did  not  consider  themselves  avenged  for  the 
death  of  Weake.  Revenge  had  been  delayed  by  weather, 
cold  and  wet,  which  had  continued  all  through  the  full 
moon.  Now  two  days  of  sun  had  dried  the  land,  and  a  raid 
was  set  in  motion.  In  the  early  morning  of  the  second  day 
the  men  streamed  toward  the  Aike,  but  only  a  few  of  them 
were  in  full  view,  out  in  the  fields;  the  rest  moved  by  way  of 
Homuak,  down  through  the  wood  and  up  across  the  knoll  of 
Anelarok.  From  there  they  descended  into  the  gorge  of  the 
lower  Tabara.  Across  the  path  was  placed  a  branch  which 

204    • 


pointed  at  the  gorge,  to  remind  those  who  came  after  that 
they  must  not  take  the  open  path  toward  the  river. 

The  raiders,  led  by  Wereklowe  himself,  convened  at  the 
place  on  the  Aike  where  the  natural  bridge  occurs,  above 
Puakaloba;  they  climbed  quickly  to  the  top  of  the  Turaba 
and  disappeared  on  the  far  side.  Others  gathered  at  Puaka- 
loba itself,  and  these  sang  a  chant,  with  ritual  weeping, 
which  might  protect  the  raiders. 

We  will  fight  at  the  Alogalik  [between  Turaba  and  Warabal. 

Wereklowe!  Weaklekek!  Hide  carefully! 

Husuk;  take  care  they  do  not  see  your  neck,  your  back, 

And  you,  Tegearek,  with  that  big  wife  of  yours,  keep  hidden! 

Beware,  beware  of  the  cutting  grass, 

Wereklowe!  Weaklekek!  Keep  hidden! 

They  will  hurl  their  weapons,  but  be  brave, 

Keep  on! 

There  would  be  a  wait  of  several  hours  while  Werek- 
lowe and  his  men  crept  down  the  length  of  the  Turaba,  re- 
crossed  the  river,  and  stalked  the  people  working  in  the 
Wittaia  gardens;  if  everything  worked  out,  one  or  more  of 
these  men,  women,  or  children  would  raise  their  heads,  like 
Weake,  and  see  too  late  the  fierce  men  rushing  down  on 
them  with  spears. 

The  sun  of  the  morning  disappeared  behind  low  grays; 
the  clouds  drifted  at  all  levels,  from  the  rain  smoke  in  the 
gorges  to  a  dirty  cumulus  high  in  the  east.  A  falcon  came 
across  the  plain  and  stooped  to  the  crest  of  a  river  casuarina; 
it  perched  a  moment,  turning  its  dark  head.  Then  it  flew  on 
across  the  river  and  alighted  on  the  highest  rock  of  the  Tu- 
raba. From  there,  shifting  its  wings,  it  glared  back  across  its 
shoulder,  feathers  pressed  flat  by  the  southeast  wind. 

Toward  noon  men  from  the  northern  Kurelu  appeared, 
slipping  down  the  Tabara  or  angling  out  through  garden 
ditches  to  crouch  near  the  southern  kaios.  A  few  came  to 

•    205 


Puakaloba,  strong,  heavy  warriors  with  heavy  faces,  heavy 
names.  Politely  they  passed  from  hand  to  hand  of  the  wait- 
ing men,  and,  though  the  precaution  was  unnecessary,  no 
voice  rose  above  a  whisper,  as  if  the  burden  of  suspense 
which  must  be  frightening  the  creeping  raiders  should  be 
shared. 

Limo  came,  striding  alone  across  the  gardens;  his  arrival 
caused  a  stir,  and  some  of  the  warriors,  at  his  command, 
moved  off  into  the  woods.  Limo  feared  that  too  many  men 
had  concentrated  at  Puakaloba  and  might  give  the  raid 
away.  Soon  he  himself  went  back  into  the  Aike  woods,  fol- 
lowed by  U-mue.  Almost  all  the  best  warriors  of  the  southern 
Kurelu  not  with  the  raiders  were  already  in  hiding,  until 
the  moment  when  they  should  slip  downriver  in  support  of 
Wereklowe  and  his  men.  Only  Yeke  Asuk,  still  complaining 
of  his  wounds,  held  back,  remaining  in  the  shelter  with  the 
old  men.  Yeke  Asuk  is  brave  enough  so  that  he  can  malinger 
from  time  to  time  without  being  called  kepu.  The  old  men 
spoke  rapidly  of  a  kain  of  the  Siep-Elortak;  word  has  drifted 
across  the  hills  that  the  Siep-Elortak  were  responsible  for 
Weakens  death. 

A  low  whooping  rode  the  wind  from  a  point  on  the 
Turaba;  the  raid  was  starting.  The  warriors  gathered  in  the 
woods  streamed  down  along  the  Aike,  between  Puakaloba 
and  the  water.  They  moved  low  and  swiftly  in  two  lines,  one 
skirting  the  river  bank,  the  other  through  the  tall  grass  near 
the  shelter:  Asikanalek,  passing,  flipped  his  tobacco  roll  un- 
der the  thatch  and  disappeared  again  into  the  grass.  In  a  few 
minutes  more  than  a  hundred  men  had  come  and  gone,  trail- 
ing the  long  spears  by  the  blades. 

Rain  came,  and  with  it  heavy  gusts  of  wind.  The  Tu- 
raba forms  a  barrier  toward  the  southeast  and  keeps  this 
corner  of  the  valley  almost  windless,  but  today  the  wind  was 
far  stronger  than  usual,  howling  audibly  through  the  pocked 

206     m 


eroded  rocks  of  the  badland's  summit.  From  the  Aike,  farther 
down,  a  scattering  of  ducks  rose  as  the  warriors  passed;  the 
birds  swept  outward  across  the  gardens,  veering  wildly  in 
the  tumult  of  the  air. 

Maitmo  appeared  in  his  roosterish  red  crest — like  Limo, 
he  had  come  alone — and  paused  briefly  in  the  shelter  to 
smoke.  He  too  spoke  excitedly  of  the  Siep-Elortak,  and  the 
other  men,  most  of  them  old,  regarded  him  with  deference 
and  vague  disquiet:  they  seemed  relieved  when  he  got  up 
and  went  away  downriver. 

Soon  all  but  the  oldest  men  moved  after  him.  Below 
Puakaloba  they  crossed  a  deep  inlet  of  the  Aike,  up  to  their 
chests,  and  moved  on  down  along  the  bank.  Already  word 
had  filtered  back  that  Tekman  Bio  had  been  wounded.  Siba 
ran  by,  followed  by  young  Siloba;  Siloba  panted  loudly  in 
excitement. 

At  a  sudden  rise  of  rock  the  old  men  and  yegerek 
climbed  to  the  crest;  the  warriors  ran  on,  across  the  fields 
of  Likinapma.  Likinapma  is  a  village  near  the  river,  aban- 
doned a  few  seasons  past.  Its  thatch  roofs  are  sagging,  and 
its  banana  trees  sink  away  in  the  surging  shrubbery.  The 
ditches  of  the  gardens  have  filled  in,  and  the  coarse  grass  has 
usurped  the  plots,  bedding  them  over  with  gold  tussock,  for 
the  village  is  now  in  no  man's  land.  It  belongs  to  the  men  of 
U-mue*s  pilai,  but  its  proximity  to  the  enemy  makes  it  un- 
safe. Beyond  it  and  below  is  a  wide,  low  swale  of  bright 
marshy  green,  ending  at  a  neck  of  woods;  on  the  far  side  of 
the  neck  is  the  Wittaia  end  of  the  Tokolik,  with  a  large  kaio. 

From  the  wood  itself  there  came  shrill  howling,  and 
now  a  large  number  of  Wittaia  burst  out  upon  the  swale, 
driving  back  the  Kurelu;  more  Kurelu  were  strung  out  along 
the  trail  from  the  dead  village.  There  was  a  brief  vicious 
skirmish  and  exchange  of  arrows  before  both  sides  suddenly 
drew  back.  The  Kurelu  on  the  rock  crest,  like  those  at  the 

•  207 


gate  of  the  old  village  and  on  the  swale  itself,  stood  in  si- 
lence in  a  cold,  driving  rain.  They  watched  the  Wittaia,  who 
had  formed  a  large  leaping  circle  and  were  chanting  in  etai. 

The  raid  had  not  avenged  Weake,  and  a  Kurelu  had 
been  killed.  Four  or  five  other  men  were  wounded.  Already 
the  injured  hobbled  or  were  carried  back,  one  after  the 
other.  One  was  Tekman  Bio  with  a  spear  through  his  front 
thigh,  another  Siba  with  an  arrow  in  his  leg,  a  third  Werek- 
lowe's  wild-smiling  son;  Wereklowe's  son  had  been  speared 
twice,  in  the  back  and  side. 

The  dead  man  was  Yonokma,  who,  with  Tekman  Bio, 
was  to  inherit  the  pilai  and  holy  stones  of  his  old  father  in 
Abulopak.  Yonokma  was  a  stocky,  cheerful  boy,  close  friend 
of  Siloba,  and  he  had  been  in  the  advance  raid.  The  raiders 
had  attacked  a  garden,  chasing  the  Wittaia  into  a  wood;  the 
Wittaia  had  rallied  in  the  wood  and  waited  in  ambush  for 
pursuers.  The  frustrated  Kurelu  had  rushed  ahead,  Yonokma 
in  the  lead,  and  in  a  furious  fight  Yonokma  had  been  cut 
off;  he  was  set  upon  and  speared,  over  and  over. 

Already  word  had  flown  back  to  the  villages,  and  a  few 
Wilil  women  crept  out  across  the  fields.  Wailing  softly,  arms 
around  their  necks,  they  sat  on  the  high  rocks  in  the  rain, 
like  owls.  Far  below  the  men  stood  in  groups,  staring  at  the 
woods  into  which  the  Wittaia  had  disappeared.  Not  only 
was  Yonokma  dead,  but  the  Wittaia  had  his  body:  the  war- 
riors waited  in  the  cold  to  see  what  the  enemy  meant  to  do. 

The  Wittaia  could  very  well  have  thrown  Yonokma's 
body  into  a  field  to  rot,  but  they  did  not  do  so,  less  out  of 
courtesy  than  because,  should  they  do  so,  Yonokma's  ghost 
would  never  leave  their  territory:  they  called  out  that  they 
wished  to  return  the  body.  Meanwhile,  in  the  shelter  of  the 
woods,  they  went  on  with  their  etai,  in  full  view  of  the  wait- 
ing Kurelu. 

Kurelu  himself  came  back  alone  across  the  marsh  and 


208    m 


climbed  into  the  rocks.  With  the  rest  he  gazed  back  for  a 
time  toward  the  woods,  then  went  on  down  the  far  side  of 
the  rock  and  began  his  long  walk  home. 

A  band  of  Wittaia  left  the  wood,  bearing  the  body  of 
Yonokma.  The  group  hurried  toward  the  battle  line,  escorted 
by  dancing  warriors.  The  Kurelu  came  forward,  and  both 
sides  feinted  with  spears,  but  no  arrows  were  exchanged. 
The  Wittaia  dropped  the  body  in  the  grass  and  fled,  for  the 
Kurelu  immediately  attacked.  In  the  fighting  the  Wittaia 
were  driven  back  toward  the  woods,  and  under  cover  of  the 
melee  the  body  was  retrieved,  and  a  man  ran  forward  with 
a  brand  and  some  dry  thatching  and  set  a  fire  where  it  had 
lain:  thick  smoke  billowed  up  against  the  high  Wittaia  hills. 

The  body  was  carried  back  a  little  way  and  laid  to  earth 
while  the  warriors  conferred;  in  a  few  minutes  it  was  picked 
up  again  and  hurried  toward  the  old  village,  and  its  second 
resting  place  burned  behind  it.  The  rain  had  stopped,  but 
the  air  was  very  cold;  it  was  nearly  dark.  The  line  of  men 
accompanying  the  body  paused  at  the  village,  where  a 
stretcher  was  constructed;  the  body  was  wrapped  in  grass 
between  two  poles  and  carried  on.  One  of  the  bearers  was 
Siloba,  Yonokma's  friend.  The  procession  went  northward 
across  the  fields  to  the  central  kaio,  the  people  falling  into 
line  behind  it. 

A  young  pig  had  been  brought  out  from  the  villages;  it 
was  killed  as  the  stretcher  came  near.  The  body  was  put 
down  and  warm  blood  from  the  pig  rubbed  on  it.  Then 
U-mue,  outlined  against  the  silver  sky  of  rainy  twilight,  shot 
four  arrows  over  the  body  toward  Wittaia  land,  one  to  the 
northwest,  one  due  west,  and  two  over  Yonokma's  head,  to- 
ward the  southwest,  where  he  had  died:  the  arrows  would 
drive  back  all  unfriendly  ghosts  which  might  have  trailed 
the  body.  The  stretcher  was  taken  up  again  and  carried  back 
toward  the  villages  under  the  mountain  wall. 

•     209 


•  Like  most  of  the  elege,  Yonokma  had  lived  in 
many  pilais  but,  since  U-mue's  wife  Koalaro  was  his  elder 
sister,  he  stayed  most  commonly  in  Wuperainma.  For  this 
reason  his  loss  was  as  upsetting  to  the  Wilil  as  it  was  to  his 
own  HalluL  The  fact  of  Yonokma's  death  and  Tekman  Bio's 
wounding  but  five  days  after  the  consecration  of  their  holy 
stones  would  decrease  the  power  and  prestige  of  the  stones, 
which  would  now  go  to  Tekman  Bio. 

The  death  was  thought  of  as  a  most  important  one,  not 
only  because  Yonokma  had  been  brave  and  a  good  warrior 
but  because  his  death  compounded  the  grief  and  bitterness 
caused  by  the  killing  of  Weake,  because  he  was  one  of 
"Werek's"  men,  and  because  he  had  been  widely  known  and 
liked;  the  mourning  was  entirely  serious.  Even  Maitmo  came 
from  the  northern  Kurelu,  though  he  stood  off  by  himself 
and  was  not  a  part  of  the  gathering  of  southern  kains  before 
the  pilai. 

All  day  the  mourning  rose  and  fell,  counterpointed  by 
the  split  of  wood  and  the  clacking  of  wood  tongs  on  the  rock 
fires.  The  women's  requiem  was  soft  and  steady,  while  in- 
side the  pilai  the  old  kains  sighed  and  quavered  in  a  har- 
mony resonant  and  old.  From  time  to  time  the  younger  men 
took  up  the  chant,  in  a  strong,  pure  refrain,  as  if  all  breathed 
together. 

The  moaning  persisted  until  late  afternoon,  though  it 
was  weary  now,  and  stray  voices  of  the  women  rose  brokenly 
from  the  rest  One  sang  out  of  harmony  with  her  sisters, 
Yay-y>  yay>  egh-egh-egh.  Often  the  women's  wail  began 
with  a  single  uttered  word  hurled  out  as  a  point  of  de- 
parture: nyerakenare-e-e,  ay,  ay,  hitu  nan  a-ay-ay,  egh-egh- 

210     • 


egh.  The  nyerakenare  is  the  long  shell  belt;  hitu  nan — fire- 
eaten — described  the  burning  which  would  come. 

The  nets  were  removed,  the  chair  dismantled.  Yonokma 
was  carried  back  to  the  banana  fronds  before  the  pilai. 
There  Tuesike  supported  him  while  others  greased  him, 
while  the  laths  were  brought  and  stacked,  while  the  pyre 
rose.  Pigs  squealed  hungrily  in  the  stalls,  and  the  restless  in- 
fants caterwauled.  At  the  pyre  the  adzes  rang,  and  a  clamor 
rose  over  the  mourning. 

Yonokma  was  hurried  to  the  fire,  and  a  howl  like  fear 
vibrated  on  the  windless  air.  The  men  worked  in  the  smoke, 
adjusting  him  on  his  side,  and  finally  they  fell  back,  staring, 
for  there  was  no  more  to  be  done.  The  fire  burned  slowly  and 
badly,  and  it  was  near  twilight  before  the  flames  took  hold 
and  rose  into  the  sky. 

The  one-eyed  Aloka  had  retreated  to  the  hill  above  be- 
fore the  funeral  had  ended.  There,  on  a  grassy  knoll,  singing 
to  himself,  the  boy  built  a  toy  sili  out  of  twigs  and  grass, 
complete  with  entrance  way  and  fence.  He  hunched  over 
it,  content,  staring  and  picking  at  what  he  had  accomplished. 
The  sinking  sun  fell  through  the  western  clouds  and  gleamed 
on  the  savanna  pools  with  promise  of  fair  weather.  Below 
the  hill  where  Aloka  was  playing,  the  flames  turned  cold  and 
thin,  and  dark  figures  hurried  back  and  forth  through  a  thick 
smoke. 


•  Nylare,  U-mue's  daughter  by  Koalaro,  was  one 
little  girl  certain  to  lose  her  fingers,  for  not  only  was  Koalaro 
the  sister  of  the  dead  boy,  but  Nylare  had  never  undergone 


iH  palin  and  was  of  age  to  do  so.  At  dawn  she  accompanied 
her  mother  from  Wuperainma  to  Abulopak,  under  a  fresh 
pink  and  blue  dawn  sky. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  fired  the  mountain  rim,  and  in 
Abulopak  the  sili  yard  lay  in  a  dense  blue  shadow.  Two  old 
women  squatted  at  the  funeral  embers,  picking  out  the 
bones  with  tongs,  while  other  women  and  small  children 
filled  the  entrances  of  the  cooking  shed,  their  backs  to  the 
warm  smoke.  Hugunaro  and  Yuli  came  with  hiperi,  and  as 
the  sun  touched  the  bushes  outside  the  village,  then  the  vil- 
lage door  itself,  other  women  clambered  through  this  en- 
trance, all  sticks  and  string  and  knees.  Aku  had  come  with 
Nylare  and  strolled  about  with  her  arm  around  her  little 
sister's  shoulder. 

In  the  pilai  the  kain  men  sat,  nursing  their  cold  bones 
around  the  fire.  One  of  them,  in  slow,  measured  strokes, 
raked  bits  of  wood  and  ash  onto  fat  hiperi  placed  side  by 
side  among  the  embers.  No  agreement  had  been  reached  as 
to  which  children  were  to  undergo  iki  palin,  for  this  was  an 
important  matter  involving  pigs  and  shells  and  obligations. 

In  the  yard  a  tall  man  smeared  with  yellow  clay  arrived 
alone.  Standing  near  the  funeral  ashes  where  the  two  women 
were  picking  bones,  he  burst  into  loud  mourning.  Strangely, 
he  had  carried  his  spear  with  him  into  the  yard  and  held  it 
upright  while  he  cried,  a  breach  of  custom  probably  caused 
by  confusion  and  distress.  This  was  Yonokma's  nami,  from 
the  Siep-Kosi,  who  had  come  across  the  hills  for  the  second 
day  of  the  funeral  The  women  near  the  stranger's  feet  and 
those  collected  in  the  yard — there  were  fifty  or  sixty — took 
up  the  man's  mourning  in  a  low  chorus  of  their  own,  and  big 
Woknabin  came  forward  to  join  him.  Woknabin  is  a  friendly 
man,  and  his  gesture  seemed  intended,  at  least  in  part,  to 
spare  the  man  from  far  away  from  having  to  sing  alone 
among  the  women* 

212V 


The  women,  even  as  they  mourned,  investigated  the 
pile  of  ceremonial  nets  heaped  up  before  them,  and  soon 
their  wails  turned  into  chatter.  Hugunaro  sat  at  one  end  of 
the  nets,  leading  negotiations.  Koalaro  was  on  the  inner  cir- 
cle, her  blunt  hand  on  Nylare's  small  shoulder.  Nylare  stared 
about  her  out  of  round  dark  eyes,  a  miniature  figure  in  the 
humped  avid  circle  of  brown  flesh.  After  a  while  she  spoke 
to  Oluma,  who  stood  nearby,  next  to  his  mother;  their  heads 
were  on  a  level  with  the  women's.  Across  the  circle,  Loliluk's 
wife  listened  intently  to  Hugunaro,  in  no  way  distracted  by 
her  small  son  Natorek,  who  was  drumming  on  her  head  with 
a  piece  of  bark.  Hugunaro  was  sifting  through  the  nets,  dis- 
cussing each  with  everyone;  the  discussion  was  quiet  until 
joined  by  Ekapuwe  who,  arriving  late,  made  a  place  for  her- 
self quickly.  The  young  wife  Yuli  stayed  aside,  straying  idly 
where  the  men  might  see  her  and  keeping  her  own  dim 
counsel. 

Ekapuwe  confined  herself,  at  first,  to  an  ill-tempered 
and  contemptuous  dismissal  of  Hugunaro's  authority;  for  a 
while  she  kept  her  back  half  turned,  tossing  remarks  over 
her  shoulder.  Hugunaro  took  notice  of  this,  and  her  own 
voice  grew  hard;  Hugunaro's  large  eyes  are  in  no  way  gentle, 
and  clearly  she  has  little  taste  for  avoiding  trouble.  Within 
a  few  minutes  the  voices  of  U-mue's  wives  dominated  all  the 
rest,  and  at  one  point  both  women  had  risen  to  their  knees, 
each  clutching  one  end  of  the  same  net.  Yeke  Asuk,  observ- 
ing the  rivals  from  the  far  end  of  the  yard,  squealed  in  hoarse 
hushed  laughter,  clenching  two  fingers  in  his  teeth  in  a 
pantomime  of  terror.  From  time  to  time  akuni  women  go  at 
one  another  with  their  sticks,  almost  always  over  a  man,  but 
this  prospect  was  avoided  by  the  appearance  of  a  crone.  It 
was  she  who  was  to  distribute  the  nets,  and  Hugunaro  and 
Ekapuwe  subsided. 

The  old  woman  stood  among  her  seated  sisters,  leaning 

•     213 


on  a  stick,  a  ragtag  of  nets  twice  her  own  bulk  collected  like 
blown  trash  on  her  bent  back.  In  a  weak  voice,  as  each  net 
was  passed  up  to  her,  she  uttered  the  name  of  a  woman;  she 
was  tottery  and  confused,  and  the  real  business  was  trans- 
acted around  her  legs  by  younger  women.  Another  old 
woman,  cold  as  a  dawn  lizard,  crept  into  the  sun's  warmth: 
the  sun  gleamed  on  the  ranks  of  naked  shoulders  and  fired 
the  rusty  heads  of  the  small  children. 

The  iki  palin  was  now  postponed  a  day,  until  its  princi- 
pals could  be  determined,  but  the  real  reason  for  the  delay 
was  a  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  kains  to  take  on  further 
obligations:  the  giving  of  one's  daughter's  fingers  is  worth  a 
small  pig  or  shell  belt,  but,  unlike  other  gifts,  a  small  child's 
finger  is  not  currency.  The  waiving  of  the  iki  palin  is  quite 
unusual  in  a  funeral  of  such  importance,  and  U-mue  is  al- 
ready hinting  darkly  that  Wereklowe,  in  discouraging  the 
women  from  the  ceremony,  is  we-ak — bad.  But  as  it  has  been 
put  off  a  day,  and  thus  lost  its  order  in  the  ritual,  the  chances 
are  that  the  iki  palin  will  not  occur  at  all.  The  women's  feast 
will  proceed  as  usual,  and  the  banishment  of  the  ghost  will 
occur  for  several  days  to  come,  but  U-mue's  Nylare  and  the 
other  children  will  keep  their  fingers  for  a  little  longer. 


214 


•  Just  after  dark,  Yonokma's  ghost  paid  a  visit 
to  Wuperainma.  The  men  of  U-mue's  pilai  were  at  the  fire, 
and  the  shadow  of  the  ghost  passed  along  the  wall,  then  up 
into  the  loft.  There  was  a  stir  of  exclamation  and  uneasiness, 
Yonokma's  ghost  should  have  been  in  the  land  of  the  Wittaia, 
causing  trouble,  and  while  the  men  did  not  feel  it  wished 
them  harm — indeed,  they  laughed  about  it  when  light  came 
again — its  restlessness  seemed  a  bad  omen. 

The  next  morning  an  armed  party  went  out  to  the  float- 
ing  marsh  beyond  the  abandoned  village,  to  the  point  where 
the  Wittaia  had  brought  the  body.  While  the  enemy  jeered 
at  them  from  the  hill  beyond,  they  gathered  and  burned  the 
grass  near  every  place  where  the  body  had  lain,  to  make 
sure  no  drop  of  blood  had  been  overlooked.  U-mue  himself 
was  there,  looking  worried  and  morose.  The  people  are 
stunned  by  the  bad  circumstances  of  Yonokma's  death,  and 
the  inevitable  revenge  has  yet  to  be  attempted,  as  if  first 
they  must  determine  why  their  sacred  powers  have  forsaken 
them. 


•  Uwar  and  Tukum,  Okal  and  his  friend  Weneluke, 
and  Supuk  went  on  a  crayfish  hunt  in  a  grassy  little  stream 
which  trickles  down  past  the  salt-burning  rocks  and  around 
the  fences  of  Wuperainma,  through  the  grove  and  down 

•     275 


into  the  gardens.  They  arrived  at  the  brook  on  the  run  and 
leapt  into  it  with  a  great  shout,  though  the  stream,  even  in 
time  of  flood,  is  rarely  more  than  two  feet  wide  and  one  foot 
deep.  Coming  down  off  the  steep  bank,  Tukum  misjudged 
the  opening  and  hurt  his  leg;  he  sat  dolefully  in  the  grass, 
feet  in  the  water,  consoling  himself,  uncertain  about  crying. 

The  boys  moved  quickly  up  the  stream,  extravagant  and 
inefficient  in  their  power;  they  felt  in  the  mud  with  their 
swift  feet,  darted  their  hands  under  the  grassy  banks,  and 
flew  ahead.  Soon  Kabilek  came  and  joined  them,  leaving  his 
pigs  to  fend  for  themselves.  Kok-meke!  Kok-meke!  they  cried 
out — Big  one!  Big  one! — and  in  a  file,  Tukum  zigzagging  in 
the  rear,  they  would  crowd  and  pummel  into  one  small  lead, 
leaving  untouched  long  stretches  of  stream  behind  them.  In 
the  shadows  of  the  grass,  facing  each  other  as  they  probed, 
the  tops  of  two  heads  would  press  together  in  concentration. 

Weneluke  found  a  first  small  crayfish,  and  because  We- 
neluke  is  a  sissy  his  feat  irritated  Uwar;  he  hurled  grass 
spears  at  Weneluke  in  false  playfulness,  while  Weneluke, 
backing  off,  smiled  miserably.  Kok-meke!  Kok-meke!  Tukum 
cried,  for  no  reason  at  all,  and  the  boys  rushed  ahead,  dart- 
ing upstream  through  grass  and  sedge  and  the  wild  sugar 
cane. 

Namilike  came  flitting  past,  correcting  the  vagaries  of 
her  pigs  by  smiting  the  burly  creatures  with  a  fern.  For  some 
piggish  reason  they  minded  her,  and  she  danced  away  be- 
hind them,  calling  out  to  the  other  children  over  her  shoul- 
der. 

At  Wuperainma,  Oluma  and  Natorek  came  out  to  watch, 
as  did  Eken,  who  strayed  down  along  the  path  from  Homa- 
Hep.  Eken's  left  ear  is  smeared  with  clay,  and  she  kept  touch- 
ing it  with  her  short  fingers,  for  in  the  last  day  or  two  it  has 
been  cropped,  in  a  belated  gesture  toward  Yonokma.  Eken 

216    • 


joined  briefly  in  the  hunt  herself.  But,  drunk  with  the  fel- 
lowship of  their  male  associates,  her  swineherd  companions 
paid  no  attention  to  her.  Eken  soon  fell  behind,  then  stopped 
entirely,  plucking  a  grass  stem  and  working  it  in  her  fingers 
in  the  lonely  sun  of  childhood's  afternoon. 

More  crayfish  were  captured,  to  fierce  cries,  the  largest 
of  them  two  inches  in  length.  Some  large  dragonfly  nymphs 
were  caught  as  well,  and  these  were  eaten  on  the  spot;  the 
crayfish  would  be  broiled  upon  the  fire. 

Now  and  then  the  hunt  was  interrupted  by  a  cry  of 
Puna!  or  Pelal! — at  which  the  children  would  explode  out 
of  the  ditch:  the  puna  is  the  large  frilled  lizard,  and  the 
pelal  any  sort  of  snake,  and  the  yegerek  affect  great  fear  of 
them,  to  render  life  more  perilous.  In  their  glee  in  the  face 
of  danger,  they  are  like  the  men  in  war.  But  the  cries  had 
been  raised  by  Uwar  and  were  probably  baseless,  for  Uwar 
is  bored  readily;  he  likes  to  tease  and  disconcert  the  other 
children,  who  have  retained  their  innocence. 

Uwar  has  intelligence  and  charm,  courage  and  great 
prowess  with  grass  spears,  and  he  is  beautiful,  but  he  is  a 
child  no  longer,  and  a  mean  streak  gleams  in  him  which  may 
only  be  the  first  sense  of  his  own  power.  Again  he  fired  grass 
spears  at  Weneluke,  who  again  wilted  in  the  face  of  it,  and 
now,  still  smiling  in  his  wild,  bright-eyed  way,  he  hurled 
missiles  at  the  rest.  The  little  boys  raised  their  heads  out  of 
the  grass  and  stared  at  him.  Tukum  growled  fiercely,  break- 
ing off  in  his  pride  a  fat  bundle  of  spears  which  his  instinct 
told  him  not  to  throw;  like  the  great  frogmouth  in  the  woods 
of  night,  he  huffed  and  squawked  in  a  hideous  voice,  de- 
pending on  the  terrible  nature  of  his  appearance  to  dissuade 
attackers.  Kabilek  and  Supuk,  though  in  no  way  timid,  are 
gentle  children,  without  Uwar's  itch,  and  fought  back  mildly 
until  the  storm  should  pass. 

•     217 


Okal,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  contender:  he  popped  up 
out  of  the  grass,  thin  shoulders  smeared  with  the  yellow  clay 
of  war  and  death,  and  fired  spears  until  Uwar  himself  af- 
fected boredom.  But  the  spell  of  the  hunt  had  been  broken, 
and  the  boys  regarded  one  another  in  discomfort.  They  dis- 
persed. 


•  Ectk,  the  old  father  of  Asikanalek  and  the  grand- 
father of  Namilike,  died  during  the  night.  He  had  shrunk 
away  to  nothing,  and  when  his  body  was  seated  against  the 
wall  he  looked  no  bigger  than  a  child.  In  the  morning  he  was 
draped  with  shell  belts,  like  an  old  packet  badly  wrapped. 
Sitting  there  in  the  brown  darkness  where  his  life  had  ended, 
he  was  reduced  by  the  dim  light  to  a  strange  pattern  of  white 
luminescent  cowrie  shells,  as  if,  after  all,  he  had  gone  away 
long  ago. 

Eak  had  been  decorated  in  the  pilai  because  he  was  an 
old  man  and  had  died  naturally;  the  mourning  would  be  no 
more  than  a  formality,  like  the  funerals  of  women.  No  chair 
was  to  be  built,  no  fingers  cut,  and  two  small  pigs  would 
honor  him.  A  few  people  came  to  grieve,  but  most  of  these 
were  neighbors  from  Homaklep  and  Wuperainma,  come  out 
of  respect  for  Asikanalek.  Werene  wore  a  head-net  of  fresh 
spider  webs,  acquired  by  rolling  his  hair  through  the  vast 
gossamers  of  a  large  spider  harbored  in  banana  groves  for 
just  this  purpose. 

Since  there  was  no  chair  to  mourn  before — the  old  man 


278 


was  kept  all  day  in  the  pilai — the  men  mourned  at  the  fire 
of  rocks.  Tamugi,  who  loves  to  grieve,  came  and  ululated 
like  a  dog,  but  no  one  else  mourned  for  very  long,  and  many 
came  who  did  not  mourn  at  all.  U-mue  sat  glumly  in  the 
pilai  with  Weaklekek  and  Wereklowe.  Since  the  cooking  pit 
was  not  ready  and  the  men  were  hungry,  they  roasted  sweet 
potatoes  on  the  pilai  fire,  oblivious  of  the  choking  smoke. 
In  the  dense  pall,  Eak's  body  floated  eerily. 

The  children  moved  cheerfully  about  the  yard.  Nami- 
like  herself  fled  happily  from  group  to  group,  self-conscious 
and  a  little  spoiled;  at  one  point  she  nearly  choked  herself 
over  the  embers,  attempting  to  light  tobacco  for  a  woman 
guest.  Wamatue  leaned  against  the  entrance,  sad-faced  and 
solitary,  his  miniature  horim  in  its  usual  offset  position. 

Altogether  about  fifty  people  had  arrived  in  time  for 
the  opening  of  the  pit. 

The  eating  finished,  the  belts  were  stripped  from  Eak 
and  brought  outside,  where  they  were  distributed  by  Weak- 
lekek; though  Wereklowe  was  present,  he  was  an  honorary 
guest,  and  it  is  Weaklekek  who  is  head  of  the  Alua  in  the 
three  villages  near  the  Aike  frontier.  One  of  the  belts  was 
awarded  to  Tuesike,  who  sat  down  with  it,  smiling  modestly, 
near  other  men  and  yet  somehow  not  with  them;  when  the 
belt  ceremony  was  at  an  end,  Tuesike  seized  the  chance  to 
help  Eak's  kinsmen  build  the  pyre.  Because  Tuesike  is  quiet 
and  not  articulate,  yet  wishes  to  take  part  in  things,  he  often 
does  much  of  the  heavy  work  at  other  people's  ceremonies. 

Eak  was  brought  out  of  the  pilai,  carried  like  an  injured 
child.  His  face  was  composed  and  pure.  In  the  light  of  day 
it  was  discovered  that  two  cowries  were  still  fastened  to  his 
collar;  a  delay  occurred  while  these  were  tugged  at,  and 
finally  the  neckband  had  to  be  cut  free.  Because  the  fire  was 
already  burning,  the  tugging  had  been  hasty;  it  shattered 

•     219 


the  serenity  of  the  funeral,  not  only  in  its  own  implications 
but  because,  during  the  process,  the  old  man's  mouth  fell 
open  wide  and  his  eyes  bulged,  as  if  suddenly  he  had  come 
to  life  and  glimpsed  the  pyre.  An  uneasy  murmur  swept  the 
women,  who  were  seated  in  a  line  under  the  eaves. 

As  a  final  courtesy,  and  to  placate  Eak's  spirit,  his  body 
had  been  smeared  for  the  last  time  with  grease.  Shiny  and 
hairless,  he  was  hurried  to  the  pyre.  The  men  tucked  Eak 
down  among  the  logs  with  something  like  affection,  and  at 
this  late  moment  a  real  grieving  began.  As  if  to  compensate 
the  dead  old  man  for  their  long  day  of  apathy,  the  men  and 
women  sobbed  and  wailed  in  earnest.  In  this  desiccated 
thing  they  seemed  to  glimpse  themselves,  just  for  a  moment; 
this  was  the  way  that  all  of  them  would  go,  under  a  blue  sky, 
in  a  late  twilight. 


220 


•  The  children  of  Wuperainma  engaged  in  the 
morning  tussle  with  the  village  pigs,  shouting  and  banging 
and  hissing  and  squealing  through  the  pig  stalls  and  the 
yard  and  in  the  weeds  outside.  Loliluk's  pretty  Werekma, 
running  through  the  bushes  to  cut  off  a  sow,  ran  afoul  of 
excrement;  she  squeaked  with  distaste  and  chagrin  and  fled 
to  clean  her  foot,  while  the  younger  children  laughed;  We- 
rekma, who  may  marry  at  the  next  mauwe,  has  been  giving 
herself  airs. 

The  children  were  watched  dourly  by  Ekapuwe,  her 
baby  creaking  in  her  net — Ekapuwe  is  restless  and  is  look- 
ing at  the  men — and  by  Loliluk,  who  is  crippled  these  days 
by  the  long  infection  of  a  spear  wound  in  his  hip;  the  hip  has 
collapsed  rather  than  swollen,  as  if  his  body  were  slowly  be- 
ing eaten  out  from  the  inside.  Suddenly  the  man  is  old  and 
squats,  staring  at  nothing,  or  creeps  about  his  yard  among 
the  women.  Perhaps  this  is  age,  which  comes  on  early  in  the 
valley,  as  if  the  eternal  spring  burned  lives  out  swiftly.  Loli- 
luk may  be  thirty-five.  At  forty-five  he  will  be  a  village  elder, 
and  at  fifty-five,  if  he  is  still  alive,  he  will  be  a  decrepit  and 
spindly  old  man. 

The  elder  wife  of  Loliluk  is  a  woman  of  the  Wukahupi, 
a  people  down  the  valley,  on  the  far  side  of  the  Baliem. 
Through  their  success  in  killing  and  pig-stealing,  the  Wuka- 
hupi had  incurred  the  violent  anger  of  the  Huwfldak;  the 
latter  joined  forces  with  the  Wittaia  and  other  tribes  and,  in 
a  rare  maneuver,  attacked  the  Wukahupi  villages  at  night, 
killing  and  burning.  The  Wukahupi  fought  back,  but  their 
allies  failed  to  come  to  their  assistance.  They  shall  be  scat- 
tered like  the  mokoko  heron,  the  kain  of  the  Huwikiak  had 


said,  and  indeed  they  were  scattered  all  across  the  valley: 
they  had  even  lost  their  tribal  name  and  were  now  known 
as  the  Mokoko.  The  wife  of  Loliluk  was  one  of  several  Mo- 
koko  women  among  the  Kurelu. 

In  recent  moons  this  woman  had  grown  weak  and  sick, 
with  bad  internal  pains,  and  lately  she  has  been  called  Wako 
Aik,  which  means  'Worm  Biting  in  the  Stomach."  Her  peo- 
ple are  very  worried,  and  early  this  morning  a  hunt  took 
place  in  the  savannas  below  the  village.  The  hunters  were 
not  content  with  rats  but  caught  small  songbirds,  for  the 
ritual  to  come  was  very  serious. 

Loliluk,  with  Hanumoak  and  Yeke  Asuk,  went  out  in 
the  morning-of -bird-voices,  followed  by  Uwar  and  Kabilek; 
Uwar  is  the  son  of  Wako  Aik,  but  the  mother-son  relation- 
ship is  not  emphasized,  and  Uwar  was  as  lighthearted  as 
ever.  The  men  were  joined  by  Walimo  and  Asukwan,  and 
the  boys  were  joined  by  other  yegerek.  All  these  people  came 
along  for  the  fun  of  throwing  sticks. 

Songbirds  are  hunted  in  a  kind  of  bush-beating  or  drive. 
Each  hunter  breaks  off  several  lengths  of  madder  or  other 
branching  shrub  and  strips  the  leaves.  The  party  forms  a 
driving  line  through  the  tall  grass,  or  encircles  a  brushy 
copse;  when  the  birds  fly  out  they  are  met  with  a  hail  of 
missiles.  The  boys  and  men,  trained  from  infancy  to  hurl 
spears  of  grass,  then  cane,  then  wood,  throw  with  great 
force  and  skill,  and  though  few  birds  are  retrieved — the  small 
bodies  are  easily  lost  in  the  dense  undergrowth  and  grass — 
a  surprising  number  are  brought  down. 

The  sun  pierced  dull  black  clouds  over  the  cliff  and 
caught  the  red  leaves  of  vaccinium;  the  leaves  and  grasses 
were  wet  with  the  night  rain,  and  the  sun,  still  low,  brought 
the  whole  world  sparkling  to  life.  The  men  were  haloed  by 
the  sun's  gleam  on  their  shoulders;  they  stalked  the  bushes, 
arms  cocked,  saying  Hoo-sha,  Hoo-sha.  A  gray  rail  fluttered 

222     • 


up,  wavering  Muwiy  uciujt?  itJKt?  /is UK;  n  was  me  nrst  easy 
shot,  and  the  others  laughed  and  hooted  when  he  missed  it. 

Three  birds  were  soon  recovered.  Wrapped  in  neat  leaf 
packets,  they  were  borne  back  in  triumph  to  Wuperainma. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  spirit  of  Wako  Aik  had  deserted 
her,  and  that  ceremonies  must  be  held  to  lure  the  spirit  back. 
Yolf  s  wife,  a  well-known  woman  wisakun,  was  called  in  to 
assist,  and  Yoli,  his  expansive  self  once  more  now  that  the 
danger  brought  on  him  by  his  son  Walimo  seemed  less  im- 
minent, came  along  to  help  eat  up  the  pig. 

The  pig  was  slaughtered  in  the  early  afternoon  and  was 
butchered  by  Tuesike,  who  came  in  to  help.  Behind  the 
fence,  in  the  banana  grove,  a  small  rock  fire  was  built  and 
the  small  pig  placed  in  it,  with  sweet  potato.  Werekma 
helped  build  the  fire,  after  she  and  Uwar  had  cleaned  pig 
guts.  Aku  watched  them  from  a  doorway,  but  she  and  the 
other  children  took  no  part. 

During  the  cooking,  the  men  gathered  in  U-mue's  pilai. 
They  talked,  and  Yoli  wove  at  a  long  shell  belt.  Loliluk  asked 
Hanumoak  for  a  feather  of  egret,  and  this  he  sent  with  Uwar 
to  his  ebeai.  Yeke  Asuk  went  down  into  the  wood;  he  re- 
turned with  three  saplings  and  with  these  constructed  a 
kind  of  sturdy  tripod,  in  which  the  largest  pole,  almost  erect, 
was  braced  by  the  two  others.  Loliluk  called  out  to  the 
women,  who  were  in  the  ebeai  of  Ekapuwe.  The  sick  woman 
appeared  with  the  egret  feather  in  her  hair.  She  was  draped 
with  nets,  and  the  men  withdrew  to  the  end  of  the  yard:  this 
was  a  woman's  ceremony,  and  they  had  no  part  in  it. 

The  pig  had  been  killed  because  spirits,  like  people,  can- 
not resist  the  smell  of  cooking  pig.  The  tripod,  which  Wako 
Aik  now  mounted  with  the  help  of  others,  was  to  render  her 
as  nearly  airborne  as  possible;  the  spirit  is  a  flying  thing  and 
might  be  more  prone  to  re-enter  a  body  found  in  its  own  ele- 
ment. Natorek  was  handed  up  to  his  mother,  and  she  held 

•     223 


him,  not  because  he  would  be  of  much  assistance  in  the  cure, 
but  because  he  was  underfoot  and  threatened  to  jostle  the 
tripod;  Natorek  clung  for  dear  life  to  the  longest  pole,  en- 
joying himself  hugely.  Finally  Wako  Aik  was  handed  a  bow 
and  arrow  by  Yolf s  wife;  she  clutched  them  for  half  a  min- 
ute while  this  woman  muttered  healing  imprecations.  She 
was  then  relieved  of  both  bow  and  Natorek  and  helped  back 
down  to  earth.  She  went  into  the  ebeai  with  the  bow  and 
arrow,  followed  by  Yoli's  wife  and  Loliluk.  The  other  women 
went  into  the  cooking  shed,  and  Yeke  Asuk  returned  into 
the  pilai. 

The  egret  feather  worn  by  Wako  Aik  had  been  a  sign, 
a  first  warning  to  the  bad  spirits  which  infested  her  that  they 
were  unwelcome.  The  bow  and  arrow  was  a  second  warn- 
ing: perceiving  by  this  weapon  that  she  was  armed  against 
them,  they  would  certainly  by  frightened  off.  The  next  morn- 
ing the  rout  of  the  bad  spirits,  represented  by  the  hunted 
birds,  was  made  complete:  the  birds  were  laid  upon  the 
ground,  and  Wako  Aik  attacked  them  with  her  hiperi  stick, 
dancing  around  and  jabbing  the  air  over  the  bodies. 

The  ceremony  over,  the  birds  lost  their  significance  and 
were  eaten  by  the  men. 

The  next  day  the  women  held  a  hiperi  feast  to  bring  to 
a  close  the  banishment  of  Wako  Aik's  illness.  The  women 
themselves  built  the  fire,  assisted  by  Ekali.  Ekali's  wife 
worked  opposite  him,  hauling  with  more  strength  than  his 
own  on  the  rattan  binding.  The  rain  began  before  the  fire 
was  completed,  but  they  finished  it  hastily  and  retired  to 
the  cooking  shed,  leaving  it  smoking  in  the  yard,  Although 
the  women  had  worked  merrily  together — a  merriment  from 
which  Ekali  had  been  excluded — they  sat  around  their  sepa- 
rate fires,  once  inside. 

There  are  five  fires  in  the  cooking  shed.  The  two  at  the 
west  end,  nearest  the  sili  entrance,  belong  to  old  Aneake  and 

224    • 


whichever  of  U-mue's  wives  are  present:  Aneake  sat  at  the  far- 
thest fire,  weaving  a  net  dyed  purple  and  bright  yellow. 
Aneake  is  having  trouble  these  days  with  her  etai-eken, 
which  is  giving  her  stomach  ache,  but  she  is  impatient  rather 
than  complaining,  as  if  she  had  only  to  speak  to  it  in  her 
spirited  way  for  it  to  cease  its  nonsense.  She  is  a  hot-tempered 
little  person,  and  her  name,  derived  from  ane-weak,  or 
"Voice  Bad,"  suits  her  at  certain  moments  very  well:  she 
maintained  a  rapid  peevish  chattering.  Two  of  Aneake's 
neighbors,  younger  than  herself,  were  far  sicker  than  she 
was:  Asok-meke,  the  stepfather  of  Tukum,  had  not  even 
been  able  to  attend  the  pilai  consecration  of  Tekman  Bio, 
and  a  special  wisakun  man  had  been  sent  for  from  the  Siep- 
Kosi.  As  for  one  old  woman  of  Abulopak,  she  was  not  far 
from  death.  Within  a  few  days  she  would  be  bundled  up  in 
her  own  nets  and  given  to  the  flames. 

With  Aneake  sat  Hugunaro  and  Aku,  and  Hugunaro's 
smoky  laughter  and  her  wild,  hard  eye  tightened  the  whole 
atmosphere.  At  the  next  fire  Ekalf  s  wife  and  the  second  wife 
of  Loliluk  sat  in  dull  silence.  With  them  was  the  boy  Wene- 
luke,  and  Werekma,  and  Natorek:  Natorek,  though  prostrate 
on  his  stomach,  and  despite  the  fact  that  Werekma  was  be- 
hind him,  contrived  to  strike  her  with  a  stick.  The  movement 
was  a  strange,  rubbery,  convulsive  one,  peculiar  to  this  boy, 
and  possibly  it  was  unintentional,  but  Natorek  has  a  bad 
character  and  was  not  given  the  benefit  of  the  doubt:  We- 
rekma spanked  him  smartly  where  he  lay,  Werekma  promises 
to  be  a  scold;  she  is  just  coming  into  puberty  and  young 
breasts,  and  the  put-upon  air  that  so  often  accompanies  fe- 
male adolescence;  hence  the  talk  that  she  will  be  married 
at  the  next  mauwe.  However,  she  is  still  young,  perhaps 
twelve,  and  the  talk  for  the  moment  is  mostly  for  its  own 
sake. 

Wako  Aik,  looking  disconsolate  and  weak,  came  and 

•     225 


squatted  by  the  fire  of  the  younger  wife:  though  there  ap- 
pears to  be  no  animosity  between  them,  the  latter  chose  this 
occasion  to  move  down  to  the  next  fire.  The  young  wife,  a 
thin-faced,  withdrawn  girl  who  looks  discontented  without 
quite  knowing  why,  is  presently  nursing  a  small  baby.  Wear- 
ing taro  leaves  upon  her  head  in  a  kind  of  bonnet,  she 
watched  the  other  women  without  interest.  She  had  re- 
moved her  nets,  and  on  her  small  shoulders  and  round  back 
shone  the  silk  skin  of  girlhood,  for  she  is  no  more  than  a 
child. 

The  boy  Weneluke  wove  hand  patterns  with  a  string, 
working  it  skillfully  into  abstract  designs  on  all  eight  fingers: 
one  of  these  represented  a  man  and  woman  facing  each 
other,  and,  by  manipulating  each  sex,  he  arrived  at  a  nice 
parody  of  copulation.  Self-consciously  Werekma  tossed  her 
head,  and  the  uneasy  boy  grinned  furtively  at  his  own  talent. 

Awaiting  the  baking  of  the  food,  the  women  ate  toa 
stalks  and  rolled  fiber  thread.  They  laughed  and  chatted 
peacefully  in  the  fine  warmth,  out  of  the  rain. 


•  Asukwan  of  Homaklep  is  a  strong,  indolent  war- 
rior with  a  huge  head  of  hair  and  a  heroic  nose  made  fierce 
by  its  black  band  of  charcoal;  his  handsome  demeanor, 
coupled  with  a  rare  talent  for  grinding  his  teeth,  have  made 
him  much  admired  by  the  women.  But  these  days  Asukwan 
is  plagued  by  an  old  arrow  wound  in  his  ankle  which  does 
not  heal,  as  well  as  a  fresh  arrow  wound  in  the  back  of  the 
same  leg,  suffered  in  the  raid  in  which  Yonokma  lost  his  life; 

226    m 


he  is  reduced  to  hobbling  about  with  a  heavy  walking  stick, 
a  kind  of  club,  used  commonly  by  men  recuperating. 

Finally  he  went  to  old  Elomaholan,  the  wisakun,  Like 
almost  all  medical  treatments  of  the  akuni,  his  cure  would 
be  external  and  spiritual  in  nature,  though  there  is  an  in- 
ternal medicine  imported  from  the  Yali  which  is  taken  some- 
times for  arrow  wounds.  Asukwan  sat  on  the  council  ledge 
above  Homuak,  while  Elomaholan,  hunched  on  his  knees 
over  the  wounds,  fingered  each  in  order.  As  he  massaged, 
he  blew  on  the  wounds,  oo-Phuh,  oo-Phuh,  and  between 
puffs  chattered  a  litany  of  healing  words:  the  simultaneous 
nature  of  his  treatments  soon  had  him  short  of  breath.  Now 
and  again  he  would  raise  his  head  and  inquire  of  Asukwan 
in  a  soothing  manner  about  other  factors  that  might  influ- 
ence the  treatment,  and  Asukwan  answered  him  seriously, 
brow  furrowed  in  concentration,  with  the  modest  self- 
importance  of  the  ill. 

Asukwan  was  still  hobbling  on  his  cane  when,  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  women's  feast,  he  caught  and  raped  the  wife 
of  Palek,  mother  of  the  boy  Supuk;  this  is  the  same  woman 
who  was  almost  killed  by  the  akuni  after  fleeing  the  Wittaia. 
Palek  did  not  wish  to  remain  with  Asukwan  in  the  same  sili, 
and  that  same  day  he  moved  his  family  away  to  Wuperain- 
ma.  Palek  is  a  kepu  man  with  neither  wealth  nor  power, 
while  Asukwan  is  a  warrior  of  Weaklekek's  pilai:  to  demand 
a  pig  of  Asukwan  in  compensation  could  only  lead  to  further 
ignominy.  It  is  not  a  question  of  WeaklekeFs  lending  sup- 
port to  a  man  who  is  in  the  wrong,  for  Asukwan  is  not  really 
in  the  wrong.  Asukwan  took  Palek's  wife  because  his  strength 
gave  him  that  right;  the  only  wrong  involved  is  Palek's  weak- 
ness. 

Though  Asukwan  is  young,  he  has  a  history  of  disorder 
in  his  love  life.  Only  last  year  a  wife  of  Amoli,  the  fierce  kain 
of  the  Haiman,  was  so  overcome  by  Asukwan's  imposing  ap- 

•    227 


pearance  that  she  ran  away  to  join  him  in  Homaklep.  Amoli 
demanded  her  return  and  at  last  came  to  fetch  her,  bringing 
with  him  an  armed  party.  A  skirmish  took  place  in  which 
several  men  were  wounded,  but  in  the  end  the  love-drunk 
woman  was  still  with  Asukwan.  This  episode,  unresolved  in 
the  eyes  of  Amoli,  is  one  of  a  number  at  the  seat  of  trouble 
between  north  and  south. 


I  The  only  salt  available  to  the  Kurelu  occurs  in  a 
briny  spring  on  the  mountainside  two  hours  north  of  Ho- 
muak.  Weaklekek's  wives  set  out  early  in  the  morning,  tak- 
ing with  them  banana  fiber  to  absorb  the  brine.  Lakaloklek's 
daughter  Eken  accompanied  the  women,  and  with  her  came 
two  other  girls  from  the  sili  of  Werene.  Supuk  also  went 
along,  accompanied  by  Tukum.  Weaklekek  went  too,  for  to 
reach  the  salt  wells  the  party  would  have  to  traverse  the  ter- 
ritories of  Amoli  and  Maitmo;  the  enmities  between  north 
and  south  had  been  building  again  in  recent  days  over  the 
episode  of  Walimo  and  his  pigs,  and  Weaklekek  wished  to 
protect  his  women.  The  party  was  joined  before  it  had  got 
very  fax  by  Woluklek  and  Siloba,  who,  as  usual,  were  on  the 
lookout  for  some  distraction  to  occupy  their  minds. 

Despite  the  time  of  the  full  moon,  the  rains  had  been 
very  heavy,  and  the  paths  across  the  fields  and  around  the 
villages  were  waterlogged  and  greasy.  At  the  sloughs  and 
ditches  the  pole  bridges  were  slick  with  mud,  but  neverthe- 
less the  burdened  women  and  the  men  moved  quickly,  as 
they  always  did,  in  a  fast  walk  which  was  almost  a  short 

228     • 


trot;  with  centuries  of  instinct  in  their  feet,  they  could  run 
the  thin  poles  with  scarcely  a  break  in  pace.  Very  shortly 
they  came  to  the  Elokera  River,  just  south  of  the  place  where 
it  bends  outward  from  the  mountain  wall  toward  the  Baliem. 
Here,  in  a  grove  of  fig  and  myrtle  trees,  a  large  myrtle  had 
been  felled  across  the  river,  which  flows  about  five  feet  be- 
low the  log.  The  grove  is  on  the  farther  side,  with  shady 
grass  beneath  the  trees  and  a  bank  where  the  people  go  to 
drink. 

The  Elokera  is  the  tacit  boundary  between  the  Kurelu 
of  north  and  south.  The  two  groups,  regardless  of  close  ties 
of  clan  and  family,  are  dominated  by  separate  kains;  in  the 
old  days,  despite  their  ties,  they  feuded  regularly,  and  even 
now  they  rarely  overlook  a  chance  to  quarrel.  The  northern 
villages  threaten  constantly  to  deny  the  southerners  access 
to  the  salt  wells,  and  this  too  is  a  source  of  trouble  and  the 
subject  of  a  southern  song: 

We  wish  to  go  to  Iluerainma 

But  the  men  of  the  north  forbid  us. 

Forget  them,  then,  we  will  not  help  them  in  their  wars.  .  .  . 

Near  the  west  bank  of  the  Elokera,  not  far  from  the 
grove,  is  the  village  of  Hulainmo,  run  by  Amoli.  The  party 
skirted  Amoli's  village  and  kept  going. 

The  trail  went  west  under  the  mountains,  across  old 
fields  and  shrubby  grasslands,  down  across  a  quiet  stream 
and  up  again  through  a  small  wood  of  araucaria  and  chest- 
nut. The  travelers  were  passing  now  through  the  lands  of 
Kurelu,  and  one  of  his  villages,  where  four  or  five  of  his 
eleven  wives  are  kept,  lay  in  sight  on  the  savanna.  The  trail 
approached  the  mountains  at  the  mouth  of  a  steep  gorge; 
here  Weaklekek  and  the  young  warriors  sat  down  under  a 
tree  to  wait,  while  the  women  and  children  went  on  upward 
to  the  well. 

•    229 


The  mountain  trail  to  the  salt  well  and  onward  to  the 
Yalimo  is  worn  down  to  bare  rock,  and  the  rock  itself  is 
polished  smooth  by  the  generations  of  bare  feet;  in  many 
places  it  is  stained  with  purple,  for  juices  dripping  from  the 
burdens  of  soaked  fiber  have  this  color.  Among  the  stones 
wind  exposed  roots,  these  also  polished  smooth;  the  roots 
change,  as  the  path  ascends,  to  the  beech  and  oak  of  the 
mossy  forest.  Here  the  strange  stiltroot  pandanus  fills  the 
clearings.  The  trail  itself  is  bordered  with  deep  greens — ferns 
and  lilies,  orchids  and  begonias,  glistening  with  that  ageless 
damp  and  splendor  peculiar  to  the  silver  air  of  mountain 
gorges — the  whole  infused  with  the  warm,  secret  smell  of 
wood  decay  and  fungus.  Below  the  trail  flows  the  bouldered 
stream,  its  white  rush  smothering  the  calls  of  birds  in  a  huge 
silence.  The  water  voice  is  a  forest  voice,  part  of  the  rocks 
and  greens  and  filtered  light;  near  where  Weaklekek  waited, 
the  water  voice  would  die.  The  stream  would  wander  in 
slow  sun  and  silent  grass,  seeking  the  river,  the  broad  low- 
lands, and  the  sea. 

The  bent  women  crept  upward  on  the  rocks,  dark 
bodies  muted  by  the  shades.  Light  fell  in  shafts  and  splinters, 
in  warm  pools  of  green  gold.  Here  and  there  the  trail  trav- 
ersed the  stream  on  boulders  slick  with  algae,  and  on  one 
of  these  the  child  Eken's  foot  went  out  from  under  her,  so 
that  she  landed  on  her  head.  Her  woolly  red-black  hair  pro- 
tected her,  though  she  was  shaken;  she  cried  quietly  and 
briefly.  Lakaloklek  tied  a  bow  of  grass  and  laid  it  on  the 
rock  in  warning.  Another  bow,  half  rotten  now,  lay  there  be- 
side it. 

Not  far  below  the  crest  of  the  pass  lies  the  salt  spring, 
Iluerainma.  This  is  one  of  two  salt  springs  in  the  valley;  the 
other  is  far  off  to  the  southward,  in  another  country.  The 
spring  occurs  in  the  stream  itself,  in  a  clearing  formed  by  a 
broad  outcropping  of  boulders.  A  pool  has  been  dammed, 

230     • 


ana  nere  ine  women  aescena  into  uie  water,  mere  are  al- 
ways women  at  the  salt  wells,  sometimes  forty  or  fifty  at  a 
time,  and  from  the  bank  comes  a  steady  whack  and  chop — 
the  breaking  up  of  the  small  banana  stalks  with  flat  wood 
knives.  The  dark  pool  is  small,  scarcely  ten  feet  across,  and 
so  the  women  must  stand  and  bend  and  press  together,  the 
pale  fibers  floating  at  their  knees.  The  gloom  of  the  cloud 
forest  and  the  packed,  straining  flesh,  the  primal  browns  and 
the  salt  waters  from  the  inner  earth,  are  somehow  infernal — 
and  a  butterfly  passes,  a  magenta  scrap  of  light,  like  the  tip 
of  a  wand. 

When  the  cargo  is  well  soaked  it  is  carried  back  down 
to  the  villages:  dried  in  the  sun,  it  is  then  burned  on  a  special 
salt  rock  behind  Wuperainma,  The  gray  residue  of  salt  and 
ash  will  be  packed  away  in  neat  leaf  bottles  and  stored  for 
use  at  feasts. 

Lakaloklek,  finished  with  her  work,  sat  on  a  rock  and 
smoked.  Then  she  rose  slowly  with  her  wet  heavy  load  and 
started  homeward.  At  the  mouth  of  the  pass  Weaklekek 
joined  them  silently,  and  they  moved  southward  swiftly 
through  the  fields. 


H  This  morning  the  pigs  of  Walimo  were  returned  to 
him,  at  the  end  of  a  dangerous  sequence  of  events. 

Three  men  of  Amoli  appeared  yesterday  at  Homuak, 
where  Walimo  and  Husuk  and  several  others  of  the  southern 
Kurelu  were  at  the  fire.  The  three  declared  to  anyone  who 
would  listen  that  the  reason  Walimo's  pigs  had  been  taken 

•     23  7 


was  that  Walimo  had  stolen  one  of  theirs,  and  not  only  that, 
but  Walimo  had  made  improper  advances  to  one  of  the 
wives  of  Amoli,  who  had  already  lost  a  wife  to  Walimo's 
friend,  the  young  warrior  Asukwan. 

Walimo  listened  in  silence  for  a  time.  Then,  without 
a  word,  he  grabbed  two  spears  which  leaned  on  a  near  arau- 
caria  and  drove  one  of  the  men  out  of  the  grove;  in  the 
course  of  the  chase  he  succeeded  in  spearing  this  man  in  the 
thigh.  The  other  two  left  promptly. 

When  the  wounded  man  was  brought  back  to  Hulainmo, 
Amoli  became  enraged;  Amoli  is  known  as  hunuk  palin,  a 
man  of  violence.  He  knew  already  that  WeaklekeFs  party 
had  passed  by  early  that  morning  on  the  way  to  the  salt 
wells,  and  he  also  knew  exactly  who  was  in  the  party:  Siloba 
and  Woluklek  were  both  friends  of  Walimo,  and  it  was  im- 
mediately decided  to  waylay  the  party  on  its  return  and  kill 
whichever  one  might  tarry  or  wander  aside.  If  this  was  not 
possible,  one  of  the  small  children  would  do  as  well,  espe- 
cially Tukum,  whose  father  is  dead,  and  from  whose  clan  a 
less  serious  reprisal  might  be  expected. 

Near  Kurelu's  village  Weaklekek  was  stopped  on  his  re- 
turn by  an  old  woman.  The  woman  knew  only  that  a  man 
had  been  speared  in  the  southern  country  and  that  there 
might  be  trouble. 

Weaklekek  went  on.  He  stopped  every  man  he  met,  in 
order  to  make  inquiries.  Many  avoided  him,  and  the  others 
gazed  at  him  and  at  his  people  in  an  uneasy  and  embarrassed 
way.  He  learned  at  last  that  he  was  walking  straight  into  an 
ambush.  The  party  halted  for  a  little  while  and  talked,  but 
for  want  of  a  better  choice — they  were  deep  in  unfriendly 
territory,  with  no  way  to  slip  off  or  hide — it  was  decided  to 
proceed. 

People  were  now  openly  avoiding  them,  stepping  off  the 

232    m 


path  a  long  way  ahead.  The  villages  they  passed,  in  the  oily 
haze  of  the  hot  afternoon,  were  silent.  They  went  onward, 
single  file,  across  the  wide  savanna,  the  women  and  children 
herded  close,  and  the  men  before  them  and  behind.  All  but 
Weaklekek  and  Woluklek  were  frightened:  Woluklek  walked 
jauntily,  lifting  his  feet  high  off  the  ground  in  an  unconscious 
parody  of  himself,  a  coy,  self-deprecating  smile  on  his  strange 
face. 

Weaklekek  guessed  that  the  ambush  would  occur  at  the 
Elokera,  near  Amoli's  village,  for  this  crossing  could  not  be 
avoided,  and  there  was  a  cover  of  heavy  cane  a  short  distance 
from  both  banks.  Nearing  Hulainmo,  they  came  upon  a  place 
where  the  grass  had  been  stamped  flat;  here  the  men  danced 
before  a  war  or  ambush,  to  work  up  a  fierce  spirit,  and  there 
had  been  dancing  in  the  past  few  hours.  Ahead  of  them  a 
group  of  women,  surprised  in  the  path,  took  fright  and  fled 
into  the  bushes.  In  the  village  itself  the  banana  fronds  were 
still. 

Hulainmo  lies  a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  the 
Elokera.  Upon  reaching  it,  Weaklekek  went  alone  into  the 
village,  leaving  his  party  on  the  path.  He  did  not  know  that, 
a  few  minutes  before,  Amoli  had  withdrawn  the  ambush 
party:  Amoli  had  learned  that  the  party  was  moving  in  close 
array  and  cautiously,  and,  since  it  appeared  impossible  to 
cut  out  and  kill  any  single  member,  he  had  decided  against 
attacking  the  whole  group — not  out  of  fear  of  failure,  for 
it  would  have  been  simple  to  kill  them  all,  but  out  of  respect 
for  the  consequences.  To  kill  Weaklekek  would  be  a  very 
serious  step  and  one  which,  Amoli  knew,  would  probably  not 
be  approved  by  Maitmo,  for  it  would  insure  open  warfare 
within  the  tribe  which  might  not  be  settled  for  years  to  come. 

Weaklekek  sought  out  Amoli  and  talked  to  him.  Amoli 
was  candid  about  the  purpose  of  the  ambush,  and  Weaklekek 

•    233 


warned  him  that  he  was  very  angry  about  it  and  that  Amoli 
and  Maitmo  were  risking  serious  trouble.  Wereklowe  himself 
was  already  disturbed:  apparently  he  no  longer  feels  so  vio- 
lently that  Walimo  should  be  killed,  or  not,  at  least,  at  the 
cost  of  intertribal  war. 

Maitmo  may  also  be  of  this  opinion,  for  the  next  morn- 
ing word  was  sent  to  Walimo,  in  the  disdainful  way  that 
these  things  are  done,  that  he  might  come  and  fetch  his  pigs. 
Walimo  did  not  go  himself,  for  tempers  were  still  high,  but 
sent  some  boys  who  would  not  be  molested.  For  the  mo- 
ment Walimo's  emergency  has  passed,  but  this  does  not  mean 
that  the  whole  business  is  concluded. 


H  Strong  winds  careened  from  the  southeast,  clear- 
ing the  cloud  shreds  from  the  last  comers  of  the  valley;  the 
mountain  Arolik  was  naked  in  a  crystal  air,  with  scars  of  snow 
tracing  the  crevasses  of  its  upper  flanks.  The  wind  and  sun 
of  several  days  had  dried  the  banana  fronds  soaked  by  Laka- 
loklek  at  the  salt  wells,  and  early  this  morning  she  went  with 
her  daughter  Eken  to  the  special  rock  west  of  her  village 
where,  in  a  hollow  like  an  oven,  the  salted  fronds  were  burned. 
Weaklekek  went  with  them.  He  sat  in  the  grass,  finishing 
a  new  shell  belt  and  glancing  every  little  while,  as  the  men 
do,  toward  the  frontier. 

Eken  plucked  dry  leaves  of  cane  as  tinder — she  had 
brought  a  firebrand  from  the  village — and  the  long  strands 
were  heaped  onto  the  flame.  The  strands  were  soon  reduced 
to  a  gray  ash.  Lakaloklek  picked  out  the  roughage,  then 

234     • 


transferred  the  fine  residue  to  a  piece  of  banana  leaf,  taking 
it  in  pinches  with  her  fingers.  She  had  filled  her  mouth 
with  water  from  a  gourd,  and  as  she  worked  she  let  the 
water  fall  onto  the  ash  so  that  the  salt  would  cake.  The  final 
pinch,  constantly  moistened  so  that  more  ash  would  adhere 
to  it,  was  rolled  around  the  fire  base  to  retrieve  any  salt 
that  she  was  unable  to  pick  up  with  her  stub  hands.  Even 
so,  there  was  some  left,  and  Uwar  came  by  and  salvaged  it, 
employing  a  wet  fingertip. 

Asukwan  also  came  along,  seeking  diversion;  he  limps 
less  than  he  did  before  his  cure  and  seems  much  happier 
in  his  mind.  Asukwan  sat  upon  a  rock,  weaving  pretty  brace- 
lets out  of  fern.  While  Lakaloklek  packed  the  salt  in  round 
thick  cakes  and  bound  them  neatly  in  fresh  leaves,  he  and 
Weaklekek  talked  of  the  day's  events.  Asok-meke  had  made 
a  good  recovery  and  was  once  more  up  and  about,  but  in 
Abulopak  an  old  woman  had  died  over  the  night;  that  after- 
noon she  would  be  taken  by  the  fire.  Maitmo  was  giving  a 
large  feast  in  which  twenty- three  pigs  would  be  killed:  this 
ceremony  would  finally  close  the  mourning  period  held  in 
honor  of  his  three  wives,  killed  four  moons  before  by  the 
Wittaia.  Apparently  U-mue  had  been  invited  but  was  nervous 
and  upset,  for  he  was  supposed  to  bring  a  pig;  he  was  short 
of  pigs  these  days,  as  a  consequence  of  the  funeral  of  Yonokma. 


I  When  Palek  moved  away  from  Homaklep,  unable 
to  suffer  or  revenge  the  disgrace  put  upon  him  by  Asukwan, 
he  took  his  family  to  the  sili  of  Elomaholan  in  Wuperainma. 
Though  Elomaholan  himself  is  one  of  the  important  wisakun 

m    235 


men  of  the  WiliI,  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  sili,  like  Palek 
himself,  are  kepu  men  of  middle  age.  The  sili  is  a  small 
and  undistinguished  one,  with  a  pilai  almost  innocent  of 
weapons,  and  because  most  of  its  inhabitants  spend  their 
time  in  the  mountain  villages,  the  sili  yard  is  patched  with 
stubborn  weeds. 

Palek  stayed  but  a  week  or  two  in  Wuperainma.  He 
came  originally  from  the  lands  of  Kurelu — the  name  Palek, 
which  means  "No  Family,"  was  given  to  describe  his  status  in 
the  southern  villages — and  he  decided  to  return  at  last  to 
his  native  territories.  With  him  he  took  his  luckless  wife  and 
his  sons  Supuk  and  Wamatue. 

Supuk  was  one  of  the  best  boys  in  the  villages,  and  the 
society  of  yegerek  will  miss  him,  though  he  himself  is  prob- 
ably glad  to  leave  behind  the  land  of  his  father's  disgrace. 
Wamatue  is  too  young  to  care,  and  doubtless  stands  this 
very  moment  just  inside  the  door  of  a  cooking  shed  very 
like  the  one  in  Homaklep,  his  toy  horim  still  dangling  free 
from  the  region  of  his  navel 


236 


•  In  a  lull  in  the  rains  an  ambush  was  attempted 
in  the  same  gardens  where  the  enemy  Huwai  had  been  killed. 
The  men  lay  in  hiding  all  day  long,  but  the  Wittaia  were 
alert,  knowing  that  raids  would  be  inevitable.  No  chance 
was  offered  for  a  surprise  attack,  though  the  raiders  waited 
until  late  afternoon.  They  then  returned  to  the  Waraba, 
where  they  were  joined  on  the  crest  by  the  supporting  party. 
The  men  stood  there  in  the  Place  of  Fear  until  dusk  settled 
in  the  valley,  as  if  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  change  their 
fortunes. 

Another  moon  had  come  and  gone  since  the  death  of 
Weake,  and  he  was  still  unavenged.  Of  four  attempts  at  am- 
bush, three  had  ended  in  frustration  and  the  fourth  in  the 
loss  of  Yonokma.  The  days  turned  past  in  half-light  and 
gray  rains,  a  prevailing  gloom  and  dankness  which  muted 
the  voices  of  the  children,  of  the  cloud-drenched  birds:  the 
people  made  no  secret  of  their  conviction  that  their  fortunes 
had  taken  a  bad  turn  for  the  worse  and  that  any  further 
attempt  at  raids  must  end  disastrously.  Their  faith  in  their 
holy  stones  had  been  shaken  by  Yonokma's  death  but  five 
days  after  the  stone-cleaning  of  his  father,  and  as  they  had 
no  gods  to  invoke,  they  sank  into  despondency.  Nit  nai-uk, 
they  said.  We  are  afraid. 

But  the  full  moon's  coming  brought  three  fresh  clear 
nights,  and  the  Southern  Cross  glittered  with  promise  in  the 
sky.  Day  by  day  the  people's  spirits  rose.  Gold-green  morn- 
ings danced  with  the  bird  voices,  sparkling  in  the  sun  and 
gleaming  leaves,  and  the  clouds,  white  and  without  weight, 
drifted  off  into  the  blue,  and  one  day  Weaklekek  and  Asikan- 

•    237 


alek  went  off  with  other  warriors  to  join  a  war  on  the  north 
frontier. 

That  morning  a  party  of  Wittaia  had  staged  a  raid  on 
the  Kurelu  gardens.  They  had  swum  a  stream  which  winds 
through  the  heavy  cane  brake  of  the  region,  then  crept 
through  the  dense  swamps  to  the  garden  edge.  No  people 
were  in  the  garden,  nor  were  there  sentries  in  the  nearby 
kaio.  Disgusted,  the  Wittaia  rose  to  their  feet,  and  a  warrior 
went  forward  to  the  kaio  and  climbed  up  to  look  around. 

But  the  raid  had  been  detected  by  the  Kurelu,  who  had 
guessed  where  it  was  headed.  They  prepared  an  ambush  and 
were  lying  in  wait  by  the  time  the  enemy  had  crept  up 
through  the  cane.  The  warrior,  nearing  the  platform  of  the 
kaio,  spied  the  ambushers;  he  uttered  a  howl  of  fear  and 
warning,  and  his  own  party  fled,  leaving  some  weapons  be- 
hind them.  The  warrior  himself  jumped  to  the  ground,  still 
howling,  but  he  was  cut  off  and  killed. 

In  the  war  that  followed,  no  man  on  either  side  was 
seriously  hurt,  and  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon  a  Kurelu 
victory  dance  was  held  at  the  northern  etai  field.  The  singing 
spread  across  the  Elokera  to  the  paths  and  gardens  of  the 
southern  Kurelu. 

Weaklekek  and  the  other  men  returned  in  the  wake  of 
the  noise,  triumphant,  and  by  twilight  a  formal  chanting  had 
started  in  Abulopak.  Though  the  victory  was  not  theirs,  and 
would  not  remove  the  need  to  avenge  Weake,  the  southern 
Kurelu  felt  that  their  luck  had  changed.  For  the  first  time 
in  many  weeks  the  whooping  rang  from  all  the  fields  and 
villages,  taken  up  and  carried  onward,  to  die  for  a  little  while 
and  resume  again. 

The  following  day  a  formal  etai  was  held  in  the  north 
and  a  smaller  one  at  the  Liberek.  The  dancing  at  the  Liberek 
was  led  by  the  warriors  who  had  gone  to  war  the  day  before, 

236     • 


all  but  Weaklekek,  who  rarely  dances.  Woluklek  rarely  dances 
either,  but  today  he  ran  fiercely  with  the  rest,  as  if  his  life 
depended  on  it. 

Walimo,  whose  blitheness  has  returned,  attended  both 
celebrations,  going  early  to  the  north,  then  hurrying  back 
four  or  five  miles  to  dance  with  his  own  people. 


H  In  the  fields  above  Homaklep,  with  Kabilek  and 
Uwar,  Tukum  played  a  game  of  whirligig:  the  point  of  the 
game  was  to  whirl,  amis  outstretched  like  wings,  over  and 
down  a  steep  bank  of  grass,  and  to  land  gracefully  on  one's 
feet  at  the  bottom.  Since  Tukum  landed  regularly  on  his 
back,  in  a  stunned,  crucified  position,  the  point  of  the  game 
was  lost  on  him,  and  after  a  while  he  trudged  away. 

Down  in  the  little  stream  which  flows  past  Wuperainma, 
some  children  much  smaller  than  himself,  mostly  small  girls 
like  Namilike  and  U-mue's  daughter  Nylare,  were  throwing 
twigs  at  dragonflies;  they  threw  delicately,  from  ambush,  as 
the  dragonflies  zipped  past.  Tukum  took  charge  of  this  game, 
barking  orders  in  his  commanding  voice,  but  as  he  was  no 
more  successful  than  themselves  at  downing  dragonflies,  and 
as  his  frontal  assault  drove  all  the  dragonflies  away,  the  game 
soon  ended. 

Left  to  himself,  he  dug  a  long,  deep  burrow  in  a  bank. 
Into  this  he  placed  an  ear-shaped  fungus  he  had  found  nearby, 
He  packed  it  in  with  earth,  then  hiperi  leaves  and  grass,  then 
more  earth,  then  more  leaves,  and  so  on,  until  the  burrow 
was  full.  The  fungus  he  called  mokat-asuk,  or  ghost-ear, 

a    239 


and  his  idea  was  that  the  mokat-asuk  would  listen  for  the 
return  of  his  father,  who  is  dead.  Since  Tukum  is  beset  by 
his  mother  and  stepfather  over  the  matter  of  his  pigs,  he 
misses  his  father  very  much  and  would  like  to  have  him  back. 
But,  so  far  as  is  known,  the  ceremony  of  mokat-asuk  is  not 
an  effective  one,  and  is  in  fact  unknown  to  any  of  the  akuni 
except  for  Tukum. 


•  One  afternoon  in  this  period  four  strangers  came 
on  a  visit  to  Abulopak.  Though  the  men  were  of  the  Asuk- 
Palek  people,  a  group  allied  ordinarily  with  the  Wittaia, 
they  considered  themselves  safe  because  two  of  them  had 
close  relatives  in  the  sili  of  Wereklowe. 

But,  despite  the  new  turn  in  their  fortunes,  the  Kurelu 
considered  the  revenge  of  Weake  and  Yonokma  incomplete; 
in  addition,  a  man  arrowed  in  the  inner  thigh  on  the  after- 
noon that  the  Kurelu  were  routed  from  the  Waraba  had  since 
died  of  this  wound  in  the  mountain  villages.  It  was  therefore 
decided  to  attack  the  two  strangers  who  had  no  clansmen, 
with  the  excuse  that  the  two  had  doubtless  come  to  kill 
somebody. 

A  fierce  howling  burst  the  twilight  air.  One  man  fled 
the  sili  and,  as  dark  was  near,  escaped  entirely  in  the  heavy 
brush  which  lies  just  opposite  Abulopak.  The  second  took 
refuge  in  the  loft  of  the  pilai;  he  was  dragged  out  to  the 
yard  and  speared  to  death.  As  most  of  the  men  involved  were 
Wilil,  U-mue  took  loud  credit  for  his  clan,  a  credit  which, 
in  high  excitement,  he  shortly  transferred  to  himself. 

The  body  was  taken  by  the  heels  and  dragged  out  along 
the  muddy  paths,  all  the  way  from  Abulopak  to  the  Liberek. 

240     • 


Tegearek  led  in  the  hauling,  beside  himself  with  the  joy  of 
violence. 

Some  boys  had  been  playing  in  the  fields  as  twilight 
came,  and  these  now  danced  along  beside  the  body,  Okal 
and  Tukum  among  them,  and  jabbed  at  it  with  their  cane 
spears.  Though  Tukum  took  part,  he  seemed  frightened  by 
what  he  was  doing,  and  the  next  day  broke  the  toy  spear  he 
had  used  over  his  own  head. 

The  Asuk-Palek  was  of  middle  age  and  strongly  made, 
with  a  large  forehead.  He  had  been  breathing  when  the 
spearing  stopped,  a  short,  ragged  sound,  but  he  was  dead 
long  before  he  reached  the  Liberek.  He  lay  on  his  back  be- 
neath a  high,  hard  moon,  his  eyes  wide  open,  an  eager  smile 
upon  his  face.  The  face  looked  oddly  trusting  and  untroubled. 

The  people  were  gathering;  they  danced  beneath  the 
stars. 

Husuk  came  from  the  Kosi-Alua,  an  ax  gripped  in  his 
hand.  Taking  the  body  by  the  hair,  he  wrenched  it  into  a 
seated  position  and  inspected  the  spear  holes  in  the  back. 
The  man's  mouth  fell  slack  and  the  eyes  stared;  for  a  moment 
it  seemed  that  Husuk  would  sever  the  head. 

He  let  the  body  fall. 

Tegearek,  excited  still,  dragged  the  body  to  the  field 
edge.  Behind  a  low  fence  there  lay  a  slough  from  which 
yellow  clay  is  taken  in  time  of  war  or  funeral  or  etai.  The 
body  was  dumped  over  the  fence,  then  thrown  face  down 
into  the  ditch.  The  men  prodded  it  with  spears  until  it  slid 
beneath  the  surface,  and  black  bubbles  rose.  Grass  was 
thrown  on  top  of  it. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  body  was  taken  from  the  ditch, 
and  the  two  Asuk-Paleks  who  had  not  been  attacked  carried 
it  off  beyond  the  Elokera.  The  following  day  a  large  etai  was 
held,  for  the  score  had  been  settled  at  long  last,  and  the 
faltering  etai-eken  of  the  people  had  been  restored. 

•     241 


•  For  three  months  Werene  had  worked  on  his  new 
garden,  and  finally  it  was  ready  to  be  planted.  The  roots 
and  old  grass  had  been  burned,  the  ditches  weeded  out  and 
excavated,  and  a  series  of  new  trenches  dug:  these  led  away 
from  the  main  cross  ditch  like  fat  teeth  in  a  jaw,  a  kind  of 
harmonious  deep  scalloping.  The  ditches  were  fed  by  a  small 
stream  draining  the  brushy  wetlands  below  Anelarok,  and 
because  the  garden  lay  on  a  slight  slope,  toward  the  Baliem, 
the  krge  ditch  which  encircled  the  whole  garden,  including 
the  plots  worked  by  Tegearek,  was  finished  in  a  series  of 
steps,  perhaps  twelve  feet  apart,  so  that  in  dry  weather  the 
water  would  not  pour  away.  This  ditch  would  also  deter 
pigs  from  undoing  the  work  of  man. 

Between  the  ditches  the  new  plots,  perhaps  twenty  feet 
across  and  eighty  long,  had  been  built  high  with  the  ex- 
cavated earth,  and  the  clods,  dried  to  a  gray  clay  in  the  sun, 
had  been  broken  and  leveled,  In  Werene's  half  of  the  new 
garden  the  men's  work  was  finished,  and  in  a  day  or  two 
the  women  would  come  and  plant  the  shoots  of  hiperi.  Te- 
gearek, who  busies  himself  with  war  and  other  matters,  had 
fallen  several  weeks  behind  and  still  labored  fitfully  in  the 
old  trenches. 

For  the  most  part,  Werene  had  worked  all  by  himself, 
his  solitary  spear  and  the  thin  plume  of  his  small  fire  isolated 
on  the  valley  sky.  But  others  had  come  to  help  him  with  the 
deepening  of  the  ditches,  and  in  the  last  weeks  he  was  assisted 
almost  every  day  by  Hanumoak. 

The  quarrel  which  had  separated  the  two  brothers  years 
ago  had  come  about  when  Werene  had  ordered  Hanumoak, 
then  still  a  boy,  to  go  to  work  out  in  the  gardens.  Hanumoak 

342    m 


had  rebelled  and,  after  a  dispute  which  became  serious,  had 
left  the  sili  of  Werene  and  gone  to  live  in  Wuperainma.  Now, 
long  after,  he  had  come  to  work  for  Werene  at  last,  and, 
while  the  two  were  not  affectionate,  they  laughed  mildly  to- 
gether while  they  heaved  and  dug,  as  if  embarrassed  and 
relieved  that  their  quarrel  was  at  an  end, 

Hanumoak's  own  garden  plot,  part  of  a  large  new  garden 
worked  by  the  men  of  his  pilai,  lay  down  the  stream  a  little 
way,  across  a  neck  of  brushland.  This  garden,  a  few  days 
ahead  of  Werene's,  had  already  been  turned  over  to  the 
women,  but  since  Hanumoak  had  no  wife  his  plot  was  planted 
by  the  wives  of  U-mue.  For  the  labor  of  these  women,  Hanu- 
moak will  be  in  U-mue's  debt,  just  as  Werene  will  be  in  debt 
to  Hanumoak.  Between  the  women  as  they  worked  lay  a  net 
filled  with  hiperi  tendrils.  They  hollowed  each  hill  and  buried 
in  the  pit  the  graceful  length  of  morning-glory  vine,  so  that 
only  the  tip,  with  its  cluster  of  pretty,  heart-shaped  leaves, 
was  exposed  to  the  air  and  sun.  In  the  grass  along  the  garden 
edge  the  bees  hummed  sleepily  in  the  midday  heat,  and  a 
robin  chat  sang  fitfully  its  rolling  song.  From  across  the  fields 
a  woman's  voice  rose  monotonously,  a  keening  o-ay-tM-ay, 
o-wa-ay;  oay-u>0~ay,  o-tm-at^  over  and  over  and  over. 


243 


•  A  pig  of  the  Wittaia,  bent  on  some  hoggish  er- 
rand in  the  frontier  woods,  blundered  and  snuffled  within 
view  of  one  of  the  Kurelu  kaios.  The  men  at  the  kaio  waylaid 
this  pig  and  escorted  it  with  pomp  and  ceremony  to  Abulopak, 
where  they  ate  it,  The  pig  was  only  further  evidence  of 
their  new  luck,  and  the  next  morning  the  Kurelu,  rid- 
ing the  storms  of  fortune,  went  to  war.  This  war  was  led 
by  Nilik  and  Yoli;  Yoli  in  recent  days  had  held  a  holy  stone 
consecration  in  Hulibara  and,  feeling  more  important  than 
usual,  had  enlisted  Nilik's  support  in  the  initiation  of  the 
stones. 

In  midmorning  a  party  of  warriors  slipped  down  through 
the  woods  north  of  the  Waraba,  for  the  war  was  to  start 
with  a  raid;  another  party  crept  to  the  base  of  the  Waraba 
from  the  Tokolik.  The  first  group  crouched  and  ran  along 
the  cover  of  the  high  cane  brake  which  fringes  the  stream 
between  the  Waraba  and  Siobara.  Some  of  the  warriors  wore 
mikaks  and  white  feathers  which  flashed  across  the  fields; 
whether  for  this  reason  or  another,  they  were  seen  by  Wittaia 
sentries  on  the  crest  of  the  Siobara.  The  sentries  scrambled 
down  among  the  rocks,  silent  as  ghosts,  and  by  the  time  the 
raiders  tried  to  cross  the  open  place  between  the  hills,  the 
Wittaia  were  prepared,  They  attacked  the  raiders  at  this 
place,  driving  them  up  onto  the  Waraba,  where  the  first 
band  rushed  to  support  them.  The  Kurelu's  luck  had  con- 
tinued, for  none  of  their  men  was  seriously  hurt,  while  a 
Wittaia  was  struck  in  the  stomach  with  an  arrow  and  may 
die. 

Both  sides  now  held  back,  awaiting  reinforcements.  In 
the  slow  morning  hours  before  the  war  commenced,  Aloro, 

244     • 


sitting  cross-legged  at  the  fireplace  at  Homuak,  scraped  down 
a  new  white  bow.  He  was  absorbed  in  it,  paring  its  ends 
long  and  sharp,  using  his  boar's  tusk;  the  fine  white  shavings 
fell  and  curled  on  his  cordy  shrunken  thigh.  Later  he  braced 
and  bent  it  into  shape  between  two  saplings,  his  face  fixed 
in  his  intense  grimace  which  is  not  quite  a  grin. 

At  the  Kosi-Alua  kaio  near  the  Tokolik,  men  gathered 
beneath  the  shelter.  It  was  a  damp  morning  of  intermittent 
rains,  and  the  sparks  of  the  fire,  flying  high,  caught  on  the 
thatching  of  the  roof.  A  heap  of  blazing  ferns  was  knocked 
from  the  crest  of  the  fire,  and  Wereklowe's  son  stamped  them 
to  ash  with  his  bare  foot.  He  is  still  limping  from  two  spear 
wounds  suffered  in  the  raid  in  which  Yonokma  died,  and 
walks  about  with  a  heavy  walking  stick. 

Wereklowe  himself  came  along,  striding  outward  from 
the  mountains  with  the  rain.  His  white  spear  swayed  against 
the  rim,  sharp  on  gray  clouds  flowing  out  of  the  high  forest, 
down  into  the  valley.  He  leaned  his  spear  among  the  rest 
on  the  side  of  the  shelter  and  crouched  down  to  slip  beneath 
the  thatch;  bent,  he  picked  his  way  around  the  fire,  taking 
the  men's  hands  in  both  his  own  and  smiling  his  furious  wild 
smile.  Wah,  he  sighed  in  his  gentle  voice,  wah,  wah.  Though 
he  had  no  special  greeting  for  his  son,  who  lives  apart  from 
him  in  his  own  small  village  at  the  edge  of  the  Kosi-Alua, 
he  came  and  sat  beside  him  when  the  round  of  his  greetings 
was  at  an  end. 

The  rain  diminished  for  a  time,  and  the  men  at  the 
outer  kaios  moved  on  across  the  swamp  to  the  Waraba.  Al- 
ready warriors  of  the  Kurelu  were  bunched  on  the  high  rocks 
toward  the  Siobara,  and  on  the  Siobara  itself  small  parties 
of  Wittaia  were  convening.  But  the  rain  drifted  in  again, 
and  some  of  the  men  returned  to  the  reedy  knoll  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  L.  Asikanalek  and  Pumeka  came  together,  and 
Pumeka  was  carrying  with  his  good  arm  Asikanalek's  long 

•     245 


dark  spear.  Pumeka  looked  glad  and  foolish,  carrying  this 
weapon  he  had  never  used,  and  pointed  at  it  in  self- 
deprecation  before  the  other  men  could  tease  him.  Asikanalek 
laughed,  a  shrill,  high  laugh  peculiar  to  him — An  nai-UKy 
he  cried,  springing  away  from  Pumeka.  I  am  afraidl  And 
they  laughed  together. 

When  the  rain  diminished  once  again,  the  Wittaia 
whooped  in  challenge,  though  in  fact  they  were  badly  out- 
numbered, not  nearly  strong  enough  to  take  their  own  end 
of  the  Waraba  from  the  Kurelu.  The  latter  were  ranked  on 
the  farthest  knoll,  overlooking  the  small  meadow  and  the 
stream  which  separates  the  Waraba  from  the  Siobara.  The 
Wittaia  had  come  across  the  stream,  and  more  approached 
along  the  extension  of  the  meadow  from  their  villages  to 
the  southward.  The  Kurelu  danced  down  the  hill  to  meet 
them.  But  Nilik,  asserting  his  own  power,  decided  that  this 
war  should  be  fought  in  the  corner  of  the  Waraba;  he  stalked 
down  the  slope,  screeching  at  his  warriors  to  pull  back,  and 
finally  sent  a  messenger  onto  the  field.  This  man,  an  older 
wisakun,  was  excited  and  nervous,  and  the  warriors  did  not 
take  him  very  seriously:  they  shouted,  Mare!  Mare! — Arrow! 
Arrow! — and  howled  fearfully,  and  when  the  old  man  skit- 
tered in  alarm,  the  hillside  laughed.  But  soon  the  warriors 
withdrew  until  more  Wittaia  should  appear,  for  the  contest 
was  unequal;  one  old  kain  from  the  northern  Kurelu  drove 
his  men  back  with  a  flat  blade  of  his  spear. 

The  warriors  climbed  up  onto  the  hill,  but  before  they 
had  returned  along  the  ridge  the  Wittaia  danced  forward 
on  the  meadow,  jeering  and  prancing;  they  wished  to  fight 
on  the  present  ground,  suspecting,  perhaps,  that  the  Kurelu 
had  hidden  men  in  the  low  wood  at  the  corner  of  the  L.  The 
jeering  goaded  the  Kurelu,  and  some  Wilihiman-Walalua 
rushed  down  the  hill  again  with  an  awesome  drum  of  feet. 
They  drove  the  Wittaia  back  across  the  stream  and  far  down 

246    m 


the  meadow  to  the  southward.  More  Wittaia  ran  up  from 
the  rear,  while  a  few  of  their  best  warriors,  wheeling  and 
crouching  down  and  switching  their  arrowheads  back  and 
forth  on  bows  drawn  taut,  dispersed  the  charge. 

The  battle  line  quickly  stabilized  on  the  meadow  to 
the  southward,  where  the  narrow  terrain,  bordered  on  one 
side  by  a  dense  brake  and  on  the  other  by  the  tangled  growth 
of  the  old  gardens,  offset  the  advantage  in  numbers  held  by 
the  Kurelu.  A  hundred  or  more  men  on  each  side  were  now 
actually  fighting,  and  the  line  spread  out  into  the  brush.  The 
battle  was  led,  for  the  first  time  in  several  moons,  by  the 
Wilihiman-Walalua,  and  particularly  by  Weaklekek  and  Asi- 
kanalek,  who  are  leaders  in  a  way  that  a  warrior  like  Aloro, 
with  his  own  cause  to  fight,  is  not.  Asikanalek,  in  the  early 
afternoon,  led  the  dangerous  skirmishing  in  the  gardens,  duck- 
ing and  feinting  and  shooting  forward  to  invite  attack  from 
hidden  Wittaia  who  might  thereby  show  themselves.  Sup- 
ported as  he  was  by  warriors  like  Huonke — Huonke  looked 
grim  and  set  but  did  not  venture  forward — Asikanalek  fought 
his  battle  almost  single-handed.  In  war  Asikanalek  is  quite 
different  from  the  gentle,  shyly  smiling  man  who  built  his 
pilai  all  alone,  who  grieved  so  passionately  for  Weake:  he  is 
reckless  to  the  point  of  madness  when  possessed  by  battle. 

Weaklekek  quartered  the  meadow,  moving  swiftly  and 
powerfully  along  the  line,  directing  the  other  men;  Weakle- 
kek has  found  himself  again,  after  a  long  period  when  the 
old  arrow  point  still  in  his  leg,  with  the  responsibility  he  took 
upon  himself  for  the  death  of  Weake,  had  crippled  his  huge 
spirit.  His  leadership  inspired  his  men,  and  his  strong  com- 
mands appeared  to  keep  their  injuries  at  a  minimum.  In  an 
hour  of  fighting,  but  two  warriors,  with  arrows  through  the 
forearm  and  the  foot,  were  led  back  to  the  hill,  while  a  third 
arrow,  scarcely  penetrating,  was  removed  on  the  battlefield 
from  the  shoulder  of  big  Woknabin.  Woknabin  wandered 

•    247 


back  unaided,  an  expression  of  confusion  and  hurt  feelings 
on  his  rough,  foolish  face. 

When  Aloro  received  his  inevitable  wound,  he  retired 
behind  the  MIL  Unlike  Woknabin,  he  did  not  go  home  but 
helped  remove  the  arrow  points  from  the  wounded  who  came 
later.  He  still  carried  his  old  bow,  for  the  new  one  is  not 
completed,  and  after  he  had  drawn  the  arrow  point  from  the 
calf  of  a  young  elege  his  bow  and  arrows  were  returned  to 
him  respectfully  by  the  boy  who  held  them. 

Tegearek,  Tuesike,  Hanumoak,  and  Siba  shot  steadily 
and  carefully,  and  Walimo  ran  wild  in  his  odd  skittish  way. 
Siloba  too  fought  bravely  for  Weaklekek.  Like  his  friend 
Yonokma,  he  has  left  the  ranks  of  elege  to  join  the  adult 
warriors.  Feckless  as  ever,  he  dodged  arrows  all  afternoon, 
running  back  and  forth  in  his  loose,  loping  stride,  shouting 
and  laughing.  When  Siloba  runs,  all  the  bones  in  his  arms 
and  legs  seem  thrown  to  the  toes  and  fingers,  yanking  him 
in  all  direction,  yet  this  disjointedness  is  pure  high  spirits, 
a  crazy  joy  in  his  own  being,  and  despite  it  he  maintains 
a  frantic  grace.  His  courage  has  not  made  Mm  a  good  war- 
rior, but  on  tMs  afternoon  he  contrived  to  escape  the  wound 
inflicted  on  him  almost  every  time  he  decides  to  fight,  con- 
fining himself  to  a  sprained  foot  acquired  in  a  leap  of  pure 
abandon. 

Woluklek  also  spent  Ms  afternoon  in  the  forward  line, 
preoccupied  and  solitary,  dallying  with  spent  arrows.  Now 
and  again  he  would  pause  to  gaze  around  him,  as  if  not  quite 
certain  where  he  was,  and  smile  shyly  at  his  friends.  Even 
Ekali  of  Wuperainma  joined  the  warriors  briefly,  but  soon 
he  retired  to  the  Mil:  Ms  long  hands  shook  badly  as  he  lit 
Ms  tobacco.  Ekali  is  made  miserable  with  dread,  with  the 
necessity  to  save  face,  in  time  of  war. 

Of  all  the  important  southern  warriors,  only  Yeke  Asuk 
and  Tekman  Bio  took  no  part  in  the  fighting.  Yeke  Asuk 
248  m 


has  lately  acquired  a  taste  for  the  rear  echelons,  while  Tek- 
man  Bio  is  still  chastened  by  bis  spear  wound.  They  sat  in 
the  ranks  on  the  hill  above,  three  or  four  hundred  strong 
beneath  their  spears,  and  behind  them  the  sun  emerged 
through  a  turbulence  of  black  clouds,  catching  the  greased 
shoulders,  the  long  spear  tips,  the  white  feathers.  With  a 
Wittaia  death  so  recently  behind  them,  they  were  all  in 
great  good  spirits,  and  laughter  rang  out  frequently  among 
the  howls  of  war.  In  the  height  of  battle  a  dove  hurtled  up 
across  the  hill,  and  the  men  leapt  to  their  feet,  straining  after 
it  with  their  spear  points,  so  that  the  hilltop  swayed  as  with 
a  wind,  but  the  dove  escaped,  and  the  men  groaned  good- 
naturedly.  At  other  times  they  cheered  and  hooted  the  efforts 
of  their  own  elege,  who  were  conducting  a  side  war  with 
the  older  boys  of  the  Wittaia.  The  elege  faced  one  another 
across  the  stream  where  it  broke  from  the  tall  stands  of  cane 
to  cross  the  soft  meadow  between  the  hills.  They  fired  their 
poor  arrows  back  and  forth,  shouting  insults  without  rancor 
in  the  terrible  cracked  cries  of  adolescence. 

A  Wittaia  warrior  came  and  sat  among  his  elege,  on 
the  bank  directly  opposite  the  elege  of  the  Kurelu.  Putting 
his  hands  behind  his  head,  he  leaned  back  into  the  grass, 
calling  out  comments  on  the  boys*  poor  aim  and  inviting 
them  to  shoot  at  him.  Both  sides  laughed  at  this,  and  for 
a  little  while  it  seemed  that  the  war  was  little  more  than 
a  harmless  game,  a  sport,  for  only  a  few  warriors  had  been 
hurt  all  afternoon,  none  of  them  badly.  The  rain  had  gone 
and  the  day  was  bright,  with  lovely  shadows  in  the  soft 
harmony  of  mountains.  The  men  of  both  sides  ran  up  and 
down,  fine-feathered  and  with  fanfare,  tossing  their  long 
hair  from  side  to  side,  stopping  suddenly  to  cock  their  spears 
in  comic  menace  at  an  enemy  too  far  away  to  threaten  them, 
and  leaping  up  and  down  for  the  sheer  splendor  of  it,  the 
sun  burnishing  their  skin. 

•     249 


Yoli  remained  high  on  the  hill,  conferring  with  Nilik 
at  every  opportunity  in  an  effort  to  identify  himself  with 
leadership.  Nilik,  annoyed  that  his  will  had  been  disobeyed 
in  regard  to  the  choice  of  battleground,  paid  no  heed  to  Yoli. 
High  on  the  hill,  he  glared  out  at  the  battlefield,  clutching 
his  beautiful  carved  arrows.  Nilik's  head  was  low  and  for- 
ward, like  the  head  of  a  falcon,  and  his  hands  were  clenched. 

The  men  ranged  up  and  down  below  them,  yipping 
lustily — Kip,  kip,  kip,  kip — hoo-r-ra,  hoo~r-ra — and  now  and 
then  there  rose  the  deep  abysmal  groan  vented  by  both  sides 
when  a  man  is  struck.  Wereklowe  came  to  the  crest,  gazing 
down  excitedly  on  the  battle  ground,  and  with  him  Polik, 
his  hair  down  across  his  shoulders,  brandishing  his  great 
spear  and  shouting:  Polik  wished  revenge  for  a  woman  of 
his  sili  killed  by  Wittaia  raiders  three  days  before,  and  his 
face  with  its  deep  lines  and  stony  eyes  wore  the  wild,  haunted 
expression  that  it  must  have  had  in  the  violent  days  when 
his  name  was  Mokat 

Wari-gi-jee!  he  bellowed.  Wari-gi-jeel 

Listen,  you  people  .  .  . 

Po-kan  Kul-ma!  Po~kan  Kul-ma! 

Now  watch  the  ones  along  the  Kulma  stream.  .  .  . 

E-lop-i-nima!  E-lop-i-nima! 

Move  back!  Move  back! 

TugiJ  Tugil 

Strike  them!  Strike  them! 

But  Polik's  voice  is  a  part  of  every  war,  and  though 
the  men  are  in  awe  of  him,  and  think  him  a  great  kain,  they 
paid  small  heed  to  his  fierce  ranting,  for  Polik  is  growing 
old  and  goes  no  longer  to  the  battle  line. 

The  battle  waned,  renewed  again,  the  egret  wands  whirl- 
ing on  the  Wittaia  side,  the  twirling  black  whisks  of  casso- 
wary. A  bird  of  paradise  sang  from  the  wood  behind  the 
Waraba,  and  some  of  the  warriors  took  up  its  strident  call. 

In  a  lull  some  Wittaia  fled  up  and  down,  running  and 
250  B 


feinting  with  their  spears,  spinning  their  white  wands,  stop- 
ping short  to  snap  their  bow  cords,  leaping,  menacing,  loping 
back — an  elaborate  dance,  performed  and  observed  in  utter 
silence.  The  nearest  Kurelu  was  five  hundred  yards  away, 
yet  the  dance  was  part  of  war  and  taken  seriously.  Then  these 
warriors  screeched  suddenly,  as  if  under  attack,  and  the 
screech  was  answered:  the  Kurelu  on  the  hill  talked  faster, 
laughing  and  pointing  but  intent,  and  then  as  one  they  leapt 
away  down  the  hill,  spears  high,  in  a  din  of  whooping  and 
running  feet  struck  down  forcefully  upon  the  earth,  an  ava- 
lanche of  black  muscle  and  white  feathers.  The  battle  raged 
between  the  silent  hills  and  then,  as  transient  as  a  thunder 
squall,  it  ended,  and  the  men  streamed  back,  singing  in  etai. 
The  wild  battle  had  been  indecisive,  and  both  sides  claimed 
victory. 

The  Wittaia  gathered  at  the  base  of  the  Siobara,  and 
the  enemies  sat  in  the  warm,  waning  sun,  shouting  out  in- 
sults and  shrill  laughter.  The  insults  included  coarse  remarks 
about  the  women  of  their  foes — Go  home  to  your  sluts  be- 
fore your  hiperi  grows  cold! — and  each  sally  was  carried 
forth  on  a  wave  of  loud  delight,  a  cheering  and  whistling. 
Then  the  Wittaia  would  respond,  while  the  Kurelu  kept 
silent;  the  Kurelu  not  only  wished  to  hear  what  the  enemy 
had  to  say  but  laughed  aloud  when  it  was  humorous. 

Then,  toward  twilight,  Asikanalek  led  a  wild,  sudden 
charge  across  the  meadow,  screeching  furiously,  legs  flying 
through  the  grass  as  he  shot  forward,  long  spear  tilted  on 
the  sky.  He  spun  gracefully  to  avoid  an  arrow  and  rushed 
onward,  infusing  his  own  recklessness  in  the  men  behind 
him,  and  for  a  moment  the  fighting  was  fierce  and  silent. 
Then  the  Wittaia  broke  ranks  and  gave  ground.  Asikanalek 
and  his  men  did  not  pursue  them,  for  the  glorious  charge  had 
been  the  point;  they  raced  back  to  the  hill,  leaping  and 
smiling. 

Dark  was  coming  from  the  mountains,  and  the  Kurelu 

•     257 


climbed  back  up  onto  the  hill,  against  the  sky.  Woluklek 
kept  off  to  one  side,  still  smiling  sheepishly,  as  if  he  had  no 
right  to  be  there.  They  filed  homeward  down  the  Waraba, 
through  the  white  flowers  of  rhododendron.  Content  with 
Asikanalek's  last  charge,  which  had  brought  their  mild  vic- 
tory to  an  end,  they  paid  no  heed  to  the  few  Wittaia  who 
pranced  back  to  the  battle  line  as  they  departed. 

Spears  on  their  shoulders,  the  men  splashed  across  the 
swamp.  They  trailed  along  the  Tokolik  past  the  black  ponds, 
then  crossed  the  frontier  woods  into  another  world,  where 
gardens  breathed  the  heat  of  the  last  sun.  A  gold  light  washed 
the  beds  of  dozing  hiperi,  in  the  slow  folding  of  the  lavender- 
hearted  flowers.  From  the  day's  trash  fires  a  thin  smoke 
strayed  and  vanished;  ducks  gabbled  in  the  water  lilies  of 
the  long  ditches  ahead,  and  evening  herons  flew.  Children's 
voices  drifted  from  the  villages,  and  the  gold  light  rose  to 
the  mountain  rim,  the  clouds. 

Now  the  wild  duck  shot  up  out  of  the  lilies  in  neat 
sprinkles  of  silver  drops;  they  fled  like  black  shreds  of  night 
across  the  softening  sky.  Ahead  of  the  men,  on  the  shoulders 
of  their  friends,  swayed  two  warriors  hurt  badly  in  the  last 
charge. 


252 


•  The  mother  of  Tukum  has  been  having  trouble 
with  Asok-meke,  her  husband,  and  has  gone  away  to  her  own 
people  at  Lukigin,  on  the  far  side  of  the  Elokera.  Tukum 
remained  behind  in  Wuperainma,  but  yesterday  he  was  rep- 
rimanded by  Asok-meke  for  permitting  one  of  their  pigs  to 
wander  away  toward  the  frontier  at  the  Aike.  Tukum  is  at 
times  forgetful  about  his  pigs,  being  readily  distracted  by 
other  children,  dragonflies,  puddles  of  water,  and  wild  foods, 
and  the  chances  are  that  Asok-meke  was  in  the  right. 

Nevertheless,  Tukum  is  a  very  proud  little  boy,  and 
since  his  nami  lives  in  Lukigin,  where  his  mother  has  already 
gone,  he  has  decided  to  go  away  for  good.  This  morning  he 
put  on  his  thin  neck  the  cowrie  collar  with  its  brief  string 
of  shells  which  is  his  sole  belonging;  he  smeared  his  body 
with  pig  grease  until  it  shone,  in  order  to  make  a  fine  im- 
pression at  Lukigin.  There,  perhaps,  he  will  be  known  as 
Pua.  Then  he  set  off  alone  on  the  long  journey  in  the  sun 
across  the  woods  and  fields,  a  small  brown  figure  with  a  flat 
head  and  pot  belly.  His  back  was  turned  on  Wuperainma, 
his  pigs  and  his  friends,  his  childhood,  and  he  clutched  a 
frail  stick  in  his  hand. 


•  A  pig  has  been  stolen  from  Kurelu,  and  it  may  be 
a  sign  of  his  weakening  power  that  he  is  abroad  among  the 
villages,  conscripting  help.  In  former  days  to  steal  from 
Kurelu  would  have  invited  death,  but  now  someone  has  dared 


•    253 


it.  As  late  as  a  few  moons  ago  Kurelu  appeared  quite  com- 
monly in  the  southern  villages,  and  his  claim  to  control  all 
the  southern  lands  was  taken  seriously.  But  now  he  rarely 
comes,  and  his  appearance  on  this  errand  will  be  noted,  for 
it  may  signal  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  his  long  leader- 
ship and  the  ascendancy  of  the  hungry  Nilik. 

Four  new  moons  had  come  and  gone,  and  the  great 
cicadas,  anikili,  no  longer  filled  the  twilight  woods  with 
their  shrill  ringing.  In  the  morning-of -bird-voices,  the  whis- 
tlers sang  fitfully,  in  a  kind  of  wistful  torpor,  leaving  the 
midday  silences  to  the  shrill  discords  of  kites,  the  searching 
cries  of  birds  of  passage  paused  a  moment  in  the  high  limbs 
of  the  araucaria.  For  this — midwinter  August — was  the  season 
between  nestings.  At  night,  the  frogmouths  and  nightjars, 
the  stealthy  owls,  moved  without  sound,  and  the  tree  frogs 
clung  like  wet  leaves  to  their  perches. 

The  red  flowers  of  the  ginger  plant  had  vanished  from 
the  fields,  replaced  by  scarlet  of  the  myrtle  karoli;  the  karoli, 
drab  since  early  May,  had  burst  forth  in  new  flowering.  On 
other  plants,  the  petals  fallen  were  restored  on  the  next  bush, 
so  that  the  land  maintained  its  dappling  of  lavenders,  of  reds 
and  whites  and  yellows,  renewing  its  cycles  without  cease 
under  the  high  sun  of  the  equator. 

In  the  gardens  abandoned  above  Wuperainma,  the  grass 
choked  off  the  last  weak  leaves  of  hiperi,  but  new  gardens 
had  been  hacked  and  wrenched  from  the  savanna  and  even 
now  were  being  planted.  Akuni  had  died  and  gone  up  in 
the  fire — Weake,  Yonokma,  old  Eak,  a  few  others,  and  just 
recently,  despite  all  her  precautions,  Wako  Aik.  The  infant 
daughter  of  Weaklekek  had  also  died  quite  suddenly,  and 
Weaklekek,  who  had  delighted  in  this  child,  smeared  him- 
self with  mud  and  cried,  but  the  grief  of  his  young  wife  was 
still  more  terrible.  U-mue's  baby,  now  three  months  old,  had 
at  last  been  named  Woraisige,  after  the  fact  that  her  mother 

254     H 


had  been  picking  worai  orchids  at  the  time  of  her  abduction 
by  the  dynamic  kain  o£  the  Wilil. 

Yeke  Asuk  and  Tekman  Bio  had  new  spears,  Aloro  a 
new  bow,  and  the  new  bow  had  already  taken  life;  in  recent 
days  the  enemy  had  killed  Tikiliak  of  Mapiatma,  but  two 
of  the  raiders  had  been  cut  down,  one  of  them  by  Aloro's 
swift  arrows. 

Tukum  had  moved  away  from  Wuperairuna,  but  another 
boy  had  come.  Elomaholan's  sili  had  grown  weedy  with  dis- 
use, but  a  new  one  was  under  construction  just  behind  that 
of  Asok-meke.  Natorek  in  recent  days  had  tied  on  his  first 
horim,  though  for  the  nonce  he  wore  it  in  much  the  same 
casual  fashion  as  had  Supuk's  little  brother.  Some  of  Walimo's 
pigs,  it  was  now  agreed,  would  be  seized  and  eaten,  and  if 
he  pretended  not  to  notice  it,  the  whole  episode  would  be 
forgotten. 

In  the  days  after  his  daughter's  funeral,  Wealdekek 
climbed  slowly  to  the  top  of  his  kaio  tower.  He  was  much 
saddened  by  the  death  and  stared  heavily  at  the  silent  Aike. 
Two  white  egrets  in  a  near  ditch  craned  their  long  necks  at  a 
stiff  forward  angle,  rigid  as  stalks,  and  a  blue-gray  mokoko 
flapped  off  toward  the  Tokolik,  rasping  its  cry.  The  mokoko 
was  a  more  common  heron  than  the  white  egret,  and  Weakle- 
kek  saw  one  every  day,  flying  sometimes  with  its  long  neck 
outstretched  or  soaring  high  over  the  valley,  two  things  which 
the  egret  never  did.  The  mokoko  was  a  strange  bird,  always 
solitary. 

A  strange  smoke  drifted  on  the  wind  from  down  the 
valley.  There  the  remnants  of  Wako  Aik's  Mokoko  tribe 
clustered  for  protection  around  the  village  of  the  Waro;  this 
people  had  come  out  of  the  sky  to  live  on  the  Mokokos'  aban- 
doned lands. 

In  the  way  that  tue  meant  "bird,"  waro  meant  "snake" 
or  "insect/'  The  first  Waro  had  come  to  the  Kurelu  just  after 

•     255 


the  last  mauwe,  through  the  land  of  the  Wittaia.  He  had 
white  skin,  and  he  was  accompanied  by  black  men  dressed 
like  himself.  The  strangers  had  been  stopped  at  the  frontier, 
and  a  warrior  named  Awulapa,  brother  of  Tamugi,  had  been 
shot  down  and  killed  by  a  Waro  weapon  with  a  noise  that 
echoed  from  the  mountains.  Though  these  men  had  fled,  the 
Waro  had  not  left  the  valley;  already  they  were  building 
huts  among  the  river  tribes  throughout  the  valley. 

While  he  kept  watch,  WeaklekeFs  hands  moved  rhyth- 
mically in  the  sun,  for  once  again  he  had  started  a  long  shell 
belt.  He  was  proud  of  the  old  ways,  proud  that  his  own 
people  went  on  as  they  always  had  since  the  time  of  Nopu. 
But  from  the  Waro  changes  in  the  land  had  come,  brought 
by  the  wind:  a  strange  blue  flower  had  rooted  in  the  fields, 
and  in  an  old  oak  by  Homuak  there  was  a  yellow  stinging 
bee.  This  bee  gathered  in  large  swarms,  howling  in  the  hollow 
wood  like  a  bad  wind  in  the  rocks  of  the  Turaba;  in  the 
past  moons  it  had  come  across  the  swamps  and  gardens  from 
the  Waro  village  on  the  Baliem.  The  blue  flower  and  the 
yellow  bee  did  not  belong  in  the  akuni  world  and  had  no 
name. 


256 


THE    GREAT    KA/NS 


29     NILfK 


35      MAITMO 


THE    GREAT    K  A  I  N  S  (Continued) 


34      WEREKLOWE  (Right,  at  Funeral  of  Weake) 


38      U-MUE 


U  -  M  U  E  : 

HIS    FAMILY 

AND 

SOME 

CHILDREN 

OF    HIS 

VILLAGE 


39     WITH  EKAPUWE'S  BABY 


40     OLD  ANEAKE 


53      YEKE  ASUK 


54      LOLILUK 

-  V*  '>,V 


SOME    TRIBESMEN 


52      HANUMOAK 

• 


55      WAUMO 


56-63.      WEAKLEKEK  AND    HIS 

f58   and  63:  Laka/ok/e/<J 


60      W/TH   YEKE  ASUK   (Left) 


jr.,- 


68     TEKMAN  BIO 


THE    WARRIORS 


TUKUM 

THE 

SWINEHERD 


75     ASIKANALEK 


76     NAMIUKE,  HIS  DAUGHTER 


ASIKANALEK 
AND    HIS    FAMILY 


77     HIS  FATHER,  EAK 


THE   DEATH   OF    WEAKE 


78     THE  TWINS  (Oka/  standing) 


79     WOLUKLEK 


80     WEAKE,  IN  ARMS  OF  ASIKANALEK 


85     ETA1 


Photographic  Section  19: 
THE    PEOPLE    OF    THE    BOOK 


THE    GREAT    KAINS: 

28  Kurelu  ICARL  HEIDER 

29  Nilik  of  the  clan  Walilo  ( etai )  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

30  Nilik  PETER    MATTHIESSEN 

31  Polik  of  the  clan  Halluk  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

32  Wereklowe  of  the  clan  Alua  ELIOT  ELISOFON 

33  Polik   ( etai )  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

34  ^Wereklowe  (at  -funeral  of  Weake:  note  chair) 

JAN    BROEKHUYSE 

35  Maitmo  of  the  clan  Haiman  PETER  MATTHZESSEN 

36  Limo  of  the  clan  Alua  KARL  HEJDER 

37  Husuk  of  the  clan  Kosi  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 
3B  U-mue  of  the  clan  Wilil  ELIOT  ELISOFQN 


U-MUE    AND    HIS    FAMILY: 

39  With  Ekapuuie's  neiv  baby  SAMTTEL  PXJTNAM 

40  His  mother  Aneake  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 
4J     Hugunaro  ELIOT  ELJSOFON 

n    x  v  i  I 


42  Aku  (left)  and  Nylare  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

43  EkapUWe  MICHAEL   ROCKEFELLER 

THE   CHILDREN   OF   U-MUE'S  SILI: 


44  Uwar  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

45  Holake  (right)  and  Oluma  KARL  HEIDER 

46  Natorek  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

47  Kabilek  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

48  Werekma  ROBERT  GARDNER 

SOME   TRIBESMEN; 

49  Yonokma  (holding  pig's  head,  at  father's  feast:  he  was 
killed  five  days  later)  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

50  Werene?  or  Parrot  KARL  HEIDER 

51  Joroick,  or  Pigeon  (at  etai  celebrating  revenge  of 

death  of  his  son  Ekitamalek)  ELIOT  ELISOFON 

52  Hanumoak,  young  brother  of  Pigeon  and  Parrot 

PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

53  Yeke  Asuk,  brother  of  U-mue  (paring  spear  blade  with 
boars-tusk  scraper)  KARL  HEIDER 

54  Loliluk,  -father  of  Uwar,  Natorek,  Werekma      ELIOT  ELISOFON 

55  Walimo,  whom  Maitmo  and  Wereklowe  wished  to  kill 

SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

WEAKLEKEK  AND  HIS   FAMILY: 

56  Weaklekek  -PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

57  In  his  pilai  ROBERT  GARDNER 
SB    With  his  wife  Lakaloklek                                PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

59  His  daughters,  Eken  (left)  and  Noarige,  who  died 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

60  With  Yeke  Asuk  (left)  on  War  aba  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

61  Dodging  arrow,  below  Siobara  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

62  Returning  to  village  (note  Siobara  in  distance) 

JAN  BROEKHUYSE 

63  Lakaloklek  JAN  BROEKHUYSE 


THE   WARRIORS: 

64  AloTO  the  lame  man  PETER  MATTHIESSEN 

65  Tegeareky  war  kain  of  the  Wilil  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

66  Apeore,  whose  name  means  Killed-by-strangling 

MICHAEL   ROCKEFELLER 

67  Siloba  (left)  and  Asukwan  ROBERT  GARDNER 

68  Tekman  Bio,  in  a  charge  down  the  Waraba 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

69  Slba  KARL  HEIDER 

70  Tuesike  (right)  with  body  of  Jonokma  ROBERT  GARDNER 

JUKUM   THE   SWINEHERD: 

71—73    His  day  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

74  At  funeral  of  his  friend  Weake  ROBERT  GARDNER 

ASIKANALEK   AND   HIS   FAMILY: 

75  Asikanalek,  young  war  kain  of  clan  Aluay  leading  a 

charge  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

76  His  daughter  Namilike  ELIOT  ELISOFON 

77  His  old  father  Eak,  who  died  ELIOT  ELISOFON 

THE   DEATH   OF   WEAKE: 

78  The  twins:  Okal  (standing),  who  went  to  river  with 
Weake  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

79  Woluklek,  who  led  boys  to  river  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 
so   Weake,  with  Asikanalek  and  wife  of  Tamugi 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

si    Huonke,  uncle  of  Weake  (hunting  mice  for  purification 

ceremony)  JAN  BROEKHUYSE 

82  Tamugi  the  griever  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

83  Weake's  sister,  Iki  Abusake,  who  lost  her  fingers 

MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

84  The  murdered  Asuk-Palek,  whose  death  revenged 

Weake  SAMUEL  PUTNAM 

85  Etai,  twilight  MICHAEL  ROCKEFELLER 

•      XIX 


Acknowledgments 


I  should  like  to  express  my  gratitude  to  the  expedition  mem- 
bers, not  only  for  the  assistance  acknowledged  in  the  Preface,  but  for 
permission  to  use  the  excellent  photographs  included  in  this  book. 

I  am  also  indebted  to  Mr.  Hobart  Van  Deusen  and  Dr.  Thomas 
Gilliard  of  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  who  prepared 
me  for  the  fauna  of  New  Guinea's  Central  Highlands,  and  to  Miss 
Lily  Perry  of  the  Arnold  Arboretum  of  Harvard,  who  instructed  me 
in  the  fundamentals  of  its  flora;  Mr.  Chris  Versteegh,  the  botanist 
of  the  Dutch  Government  who  joined  the  expedition  for  a  brief  pe- 
riod, made  an  invaluable  contribution  in  the  field. 

In  Hollandia,  in  addition  to  Dr.  J.  V.  de  Bruyn,  Miss  Lou  Von 
Zanden  of  the  Office  of  Native  Affairs  was  very  courteous  and  helpful, 
and  Mr.  J.  R.  Schroo  of  Hollandia's  Bureau  of  Soils  was  kind  enough 
to  furnish  information  on  the  geology  and  soils  of  the  Baliem  Valley. 

For  many  forms  of  hospitality  and  kindness  received  in  my  jour- 
neys to  and  from  New  Guinea,  I  remain  indebted  to  the  following: 
Luisa  and  Domenico  Gnoli  (Rome);  El  Arnin  Sulfab  (Juba,  Sudan); 
Hamdan  Mohamed  (Nimule,  Sudan);  Miss  Ulla  Mai  Ekblad  (Nairobi' 
Kenya);  Patrick  and  Hennie  Hemingway  (Arusha,  Tanganyika); 
Ruth  Jhabvala  (Delhi);  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Glair  Weeks  (Kathmandu, 
Nepal);  Mme.  Francoise  Teynac  (Angkor  Wat,  Cambodia-Hong 
Kong);  George  Chi  (Hong  Kong);  Jorge  Borges  (Macao);  Mrs.  Jean 
Austin  (Heron  Island,  Australia);  Misses  Carol  and  Gay  Plowman 
(Sydney);  Joy  and  Kenneth  Plowman  (Sydney);  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bryan 
Warne  (Sydney);  Betty  and  George  Edwards  (Newcastle,  Australia); 
John  Haereraaroa  (Moorea,  French  Oceania);  Patsy  and  Mike  Gold- 
berg (Belvedere,  California);  Evan  Connell  and  Max  Steele  (San 
Francisco). 

For  expert  advice,  and  for  unstinting  interest  and  patience,  I 
should  like  to  thank  my  friend  and  editor,  Marshall  Best,  and  the 
excellent  staff  at  the  Viking  Press,  in  the  hope  that  this  book  will 
justify  their  effort 


EBEAI  OF  WEAIC-HE 

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Glossary  of  Persona!  Names 

Each  name  is  followed  by  a  guide  to  pronunciation,  a  translation 
in  italics,  identification  of  the  person  bearing  the  name,  and,  in 
parentheses,  the  village  in  which  he  lives.  The  number  identifies 
the  photograph  in  which  the  person  appears* 


AKU.  a-KOO  (after  piece  of  land  toward  Siep-Kosi),  daughter  of 

U-mue  (Wuperainma),  42 
ALOKA.  A-lo-ka  (Very  Late  Born),  boy  blind  in  one  eye  (Ma- 

piatma) 
ALORO.  A-lo-ro  (The  Cripple),  war  kain  of  clan  Wilil  (Abulo- 

pak),  64 
AMOLI.  A-mo-li  (He  Who  Replaces),  violent  kain  of  clan  Hai- 

man  (Hulainmo) 
ANEAKE.  a-NAY-a-kay  (Bad  Voice),  mother  of  U-mue  and  Yeke 

Asuk  (Wuperainma),  40 
APEOKE.  a-PAY-or-ay   (Kitted  by  Strangling),  warrior  of  clan 

Wilil  (Lokoparek),  66 
ASIKANAJLEK.  A-si-KAN-a-lek  (No  Sound  of  Bow),  young  war 

kain  of  clan  Alua  (Abukumo),  75,  80 
ASISAL.  A-si-SAL  (Extruded  Rectum),  old  father  of  Siloba  (Ma- 

piatma) 
ASOK-MEKE.  ah-SAWK-mek-KAY  (Outsider),  stepfather  of  Tu- 

kum  (Wuperainma) 

xxii    • 


ASUKWAN.  ali-SOOK-wan  (Long  Ear),  young  warrior  of  clan 

Walilo  (Homaklep),  67 
EAK.  AY-ak  (The  Little  One),  old  father  of  Asikanalek  (Abu- 

kumo),  77 
EKALI.  AY-kah-lee  (Shame),  kepu  man,  father  of  boy  Kabilek 

(Wuperainma),  12 
EKAPUWE.  ay-KAP-oo-way  (?),  wife  of  U-rnue,  formerly  Wittaia 

woman  (Wuperainma),  43 

EKEN.  AY-ken  (Seed,  or  Flower),  daughter  of  Weaklekek  (Ho- 
maklep), 59 
EKITAMALEK.  ay-kee-TAM-a-lek  (Empty  Fist),  slain  son  of  Yo- 

roick  (Kibitsilimo),  11 
ELOMAHOLAN.  el-LO-ma-ho-LAHN   (Wife  Taken  Away),  old 

"medicine  man"  of  clan  Wilil  (Wuperainma) 
HANUMOAK.    HA-num-o-AK    (Tobacco   Pipe),   young   warrior, 

brother  of  Yoroick  and  Werene  (Wuperainma),  52 
HOLAKE.    HO-la-kay    (Path   of  Women),  young   daughter   of 

Wereklowe  (Wuperainma),  45 
HUGUNARO.  Hoo-GOO-na-ro  (Sitting  Opposite),  jealous  wife  of 

U-mue,  mother  of  Aku  (Wuperainma),  41 
HUONKE.  HOO-wonk-ay  (Little  Stone  Ax),  uncle  of  slain  boy 

Weake  (Sulaki),  81 
HUSXJK.  HOO-suk  (Dives  under  Water),  war  kain  of  clan  Kosi 

(Kibitsilimo),  37 
IKI  ABUSAKE.  EE-kee  a-BOO-sa-kay  (Hand  That  Cannot  Help 

Itself),  little  sister  of  slain  boy  Weake  (Abulopak),  83 
KABILEK.  KA-bee-lek  (Sharp  Not),  son  of  Ekali  (Wuperainma), 

47 
KOALARO.  ko-AH-la-ro  (She  Who  Left  Her  Man),  wife  of  U-mue, 

sister  of  slain  youth  Yonokma  (Wuperainma) 
KURELU.  KOO-rel-OO  (Wise  Egret),  great  kain  of  tribe  (villages 

in  north  Kurelu),  28 
LAKALOKLEK.  LAK-a-lawk-Iek  (She  Who  Would  Not  Wait),  wife 

of  Weaklekek  (Homaklep),  58,  63 
LIMO.  LEE-mo   (Treeless  Place),  tall  war  kain  of  clan  Alua 

(Sinisiek),  36 
LOLTLUK.  LO-lee-LOOK  (Bones  Ungathered),  father  of  Uwar, 

Werekma,  Natprek  (Wuperainma),  54 


MAITMO.  MITE-mo  (Near  Village  Ditch),  fierce  war  kain  of 

clan  Haiman  (north  Kurelu),  35 

NAMILIKE.  na-MEE4ee-kay  (Hope  She  Won't  Die),  small  daugh- 
ter of  Asikanalek  (Abukumo),  76 
NATOREK.  na-to-REK  (Mauwe  Ceremony — when  he  was  born), 

small  brother  of  Uwar  (Wuperainma),  46 
NUJK.  NEE-leek  (Present  at  Pig  Eating),  kain  of  clan  Waldo 

(Kulmo),  29,  30 
NYLABE.   NY-la-ray   (My  Village),  small  daughter  of  U-mue 

(Wuperainma),  42 
OKAL.  OH-kal  (The  Roamer),  one  of  twins:  friend  of  slain  boy 

Weake  (Mapiatma),  78 
OLUMA.  OH-loo-ma  (species  of  tree — at  the  foot  of  which  he  was 

born),  friend  of  small  boy  Natorek  ( Wuperainma ),  45 
PALEK.  PA-lek  (No  Family),  father  of  Supuk,  husband  of  woman 

raped  by  Asukwan  (Homaklep;  later,  Wuperainma) 
POLIK.  PO-leek  (He  Who  Came  Up  from  Behind),  kain  of  clan 

Halluk  (Abulopak),  31,  33 
PUMEKA.   POO-may-ka    (Water   Snake),   crippled   woodcutter 

(Sinisiek) 
SIBA.  SEE-ba  (a  kind  of  insect,  with  connotation  of  beauty  as  a 

child),  young  warrior  of  clan  Wilil  (Wuperainma),  69 
SILOBA.  SEE-lo-ba  (He  Who  Goes  Out  Even  in  Rain),  young 

warrior;  friend  of  slain  youth  Yonokma  ( Wuperainma ),  67 
SOTUK.  SOO-pook  (roof  section  of  women s  hut),  son  of  Palek 

(Homaklep) 
TAMUGI.  TA-moo-gee  (a  tree  marsupial),  brother-in-law  of  Hu- 

onke  (Abulopak),  82 
TEGEABEK.  TAY-GAY-a-REK  (Spear  Death},  young  war  kaiu  of 

clan  Wilil  (Wuperainma),  65 
TEKMAN  Bio.  TEK-man  BEE-o  (Remains  Away),  warrior  of  clan 

Halluk  (Wuperainma;  Abulopak),  68 
TUESIKE.  too-AY-see-KAY   (Bird  Bow),  warrior  of  clan  Wilil 

(Wuperainma),  70 

TrocuM.  TOO-kum  (area  of  men's  hut  in  front  of  hearth),  small 
swineherd  stepson  of  Asok-meke  (Wuperainma),  71-74 

U-MUE.  OO-moo-ay  (The  Anxious  One),  political  kain  of  ckn 
Wilil  (Wuperainma),  38,  39 

x  x  i  v    a 


UWAK.  YOU-wahr  (after  Uwar  River  in  land  of  Siep-Kosi),  son 

of  Loliluk  (Wuperainma),  44 
WAKO  AHC.  WAH-ko  a-EEK  (Worm  Biting  in  Stomach),  dying 

mother  of  Uwar  (Wuperainma) 
WALIMO.  WAH-lee-mo  (Shell  Bib),  condemned  young  warrior 

of  clan  Alua  (Hulibara),  55 
WAMATUE.  wali-MAH-too-ay  (Bird  in  Pig  Stall),  small  brother 

of  Supuk  ( Homaklep ) 
WEAKE.  WAY-a-kay  (Bad  Path),  slain  boy,  friend  of  Okal,  Tukum 

(Abulopak),  34,  80 
WEAKLEKEK.  way-AK-le-kek  (The  Bad  Man),  young  war  kain  of 

clan  Alua  (Homaklep),  56-58,  60-62 
WENELTJKE.  wen-EL-oo-kay  (Pig  Thieves),  boy  painter  of  cave 

drawings  (Lokoparek) 
WEREKLOWE.    way-REK-lo-way    (He    Who    Never    Works    in 

Fields),  great  kain  of  clan  Alua  (Abulopak),  32,  34 
WEREKMA.  way~REK-ma  (There  Are  Daughters),  daughter  of 

Loliluk  (Wuperainma),  48 
WERENE.  Way-re-nay  (Parrot),  brother  of  Yoroick  and  Hanu- 

moak  (Homaklep),  50 
WOKNABIN.   WOK-na-been    (Take   Me  with   You),  half -blind 

warrior  of  clan  Wilil  (Abulopak) 
WOLUKLEK.  wo-LOO-klek   (Was  Not  Rewarded),  the  solitary 

man  who  led  Weake  to  river  (Mapiatma),  79 
YEKE  ASUK.  YAY-kay  a-SOOK  (Dog  Ear),  brother  of  U-mue 

(Wuperainma),  53,  60 
YOLI.  YO-lee  (species  of  myrtle,  used  for  spears),  father  of  Wa- 

limo  (Hulibara) 
YONOKMA.  yo-NAWK-ma  (The  Wanderer),  slain  young  brother 

of  Koalaro  (Wuperainma),  49,  70 
YOROICK.  yo-ROYK  (Pigeon),  father  of  slain  warrior  Ekitamalek 

(Kibitsilino),  51 
YULI.  YOU-lee  (Piece),  young  wife  of  U-mue  (Wuperainma) 


Demi  Words  Used  Commonly  In  Text 


AKUNI.  a-KOO-nee,  the  People,  i.e.,  the  Kurelu 

EBEAI,  AY-bay-ai,  women's  round  house 

ELEGE.  ay-lay-gay,  youths 

ETAI.  AY-tai,  "singing,"  i.e.,  victory  dance 

ETAI-EKEN.  AY-tai  AY-ken,  "seed  of  singing,"  i.e.,  soul 

HIPERI.  HlP-eree,  sweet  potato  (also,  food) 

HORIM.  ho-REEM,  gourd  penis  sheath 

HUNUK  PALIN.  HOO-nuk  pa-LEEN,  given  to  fits  of  violence  and 

manic  bravery. 

IKI  PALIN.  ee-kee  pa-LEEN,  finger-cutting  ceremony 
KAIN.  (as  in  "swine"),  leader 
KAIO.  KAI-o,  lookout  tower 
KEPU.  kay-POO,  cowardly:  without  worth 
MAUWE.  MOW-way,  feasting  period  of  marriage  and  initiation 
MEKAZ.  MEE-kak,  section  of  large  baler  shell,  worn  under  chin 
PAVI,  PA-vee,  species  of  tree  (slang:  enemy  or  excrement) 
PILAI.  PEE-lai,  men's  round  house 

SJLI.  SEE-lee,  compound,  one  or  more  of  which  comprises  village 
TOA.  TOE-a,  large  edible  grass 
WAM  WISA.  worn  WEE-sa,  sacramental  pig 
WISA.  WEE-sa,  infused  with  supernatural  power 
WISAKUN.  WEE-sa-kun,  'medicine  man" 
YEGEBEK.  YEG-air-ek,  children  between  infancy  and  puberty 


Index 


Abortion,  37-38 

Adzes,  stone,  3,  127,  169,  173,  175, 

185 

Aging,  early,  221 
Alliances,  76 
Altars,  172 
Ambush    raids,    61-62,    no,    152, 

189-91,  233-34,  237-38 
Ancestors,  common,  4 
Ap  warek,  see  Spoils 
Armlets,  12,  26,  92,  102 
Arrows,  9,  11,  17,  24,  25,  45,  63-64, 

115-17,  119,  146,  181,  191,  224, 

248-49,    255;    bleeding,   50,    64; 

hunting,  40,   64;  points,  26,  94, 

174,    247;    shafts,    64;    see   also 

Bows 
Axes,  52 

Babies,  137,  255;  carried  in  nets,  20, 

54,  124,  135 
Baler  shells  (mikak),  12-13,  27,  50, 

85,  88,  91,  244 
Bamboo,  3,  24,  100,  201 
Banana  fibers,  228,  231;  fronds,  50, 

146,  235;   stalks,  231;  trees,  20, 

34,  52,  145 
Barbering,  89 
Bats,  5,  78,  111,  140 
Beehives,  166 
Bees,  132, 160,  243,  256 


Belts,  see  Shell  belts 

Bial  wood,  127 

Birds,  5,  141,  230;  see  also  Song- 
birds; names  of  birds,  as  Hawks 

Birds  of  Paradise,  5,  11-13,  87,  88, 
122,  127,  142,  173.  250 

Birth,  71-72, 181 

Blindness,  96,  187 

Boars'  tusks,  in  hair,  88;  as  imple- 
ments, 174-75,  245;  inserted 
through  nostrils,  10,  13,  26,  116, 
158 

Boats,  69 

Bodies:  dead,  anointing  of,  209, 
220;  decoration  of,  115-16,  121, 
212,  218;  dyeing  of,  92;  greasing 
of,  15-16,  87,  145,  158,  162,  169, 
^53 

Body  hair,  removal  of,  122 

Bones  of  dead,  170-71,  172,  212 

Booty,  see  Spoils 

Bows,  9,  13,  63-64,  113,  181,  191, 
224,  245,  248,  256;  see  also 
Arrows 

Bowstrings,  16,  63 

Boys,  24-26,  78-79,  81,  91,  128-30, 
132,  138,  I5i~52>  159>  168-69, 
171,  187-88,  216-18,  249,  253; 
initiation  of,  179,  181;  see  also 
Warriors,  young 

Breastplates,  6,  10 


Bridges,  69 
Bull-roarers,  128 

Bush  fighters,  14;  see  also  Ambush 
raids 

Cane,  9,  189,  234 

Cannibalism,  101 

Cassowaries,  5,  11,  87 

Ceremonies,  235,  240;  consecration, 

200;    ghost-stoning,     171-72;    of 

holy  stones,  144-50,  164-69;  kaio, 

66;  mauwe,  179-82;  rat,  94;  see 

also  Rituals 
Chanting,  205,  238;  enemy,  8-9,  11, 

14;    mourning,    48,    51,    54,    57, 

156-57,  159,  210;  victory,  84-85; 

see  also  Crying;  Singing 
Characteristics,  4,  130-31;  see  also 

Personal  appearance 
Charcoal  sticks,  34;  see  also  Draw- 
ings, charcoal 
Chestnut  trees,  3,  106,  229 
Children,     19-20,     33-3$,     98-99, 

125-26,     135-36,     137-38,     221, 

239-40;  killing  of,  61,  162,  232; 

punishment   of,    166,    170;    ritual 

mutilation   of,    54,    59,    99,    166, 

169—70,    211-12,    214;    see    also 

Babies;  Boys;  Girls 
Cicadas,  70,  111,  254 
Clans,  4,  14,  16-17,  74-76,  102- 

103,    144;    heads   of,   see  Kains; 

marriage  groups  in,  109 
Clay,  45-46,  73,  87,  88,  90,  92,  241; 

as  body  decoration,  115,  117,  159, 

212,  218 
Clothing:   of  girls,  88-89,  99,   179; 

of    men,    12-13,    145,    182;    of 

women,  20-21,  179 
Cooking  pits,  51,  145,  147-49,  167, 

201,  219 
Cooking  sheds,  97-98,  200,  224-25; 

communal,  18 
Corsets,  men's,  182 
Cowrie  belts,  47,  50,  54-55,  7*,  94, 

136,    i59-6i,    181,    219-20;    see 

also  Shell  belts 
Cowrie  shells,  12 
Crayfish,  69,  215-17 
Cremation,  56-57;  see  also  Funeral 

pyres 

Cripples,  185 
Crowns,  see  Headdresses 
Crying,    93,     144,     180;    see    also 

Chanting 

Currency,  shells  as,  12,  50,  128,  159 
Cuscus,  5,  12,  127 

xxvilf    B 


Dancing,  68;  victory,  84-85,  88-90, 
92,  119,  123-24,  238-40;  war, 
10-11,  58-59,  68,  118,  251 

Death,  154-56,  181,  201,  218,  235, 
240,  254;  as  reprisal,  196;  in  war, 
11,  45,  208-10;  see  also  Murder 

Decoration,  body,  115-16,  121,  212, 
218;  pig  tails  as,  165;  see  also 
Boars*  tusks;  Headdresses 

Digging  sticks,  21-22,  26,  41,  108 

Dogs,  5,  23>  in 

Dowries,  180 

Dragonflies,  27,  51,  239 

Drainage  ditches,  22,  28-29,  242 

Drawings:  charcoal,  34-35,  184-85, 
188;  sand,  100 

Drinking  water,  151 

Ducks,  126,  207,  252;  black,  10, 
106;  mountain,  106 

Ears,  mutilation  of,  169,  216 

Earthquakes,  104-105 

Ebeais    (women's    huts),    18,    180, 

188 
Egret  feathers,  10-12,  87,  116,  123, 

223 

Egrets,  82,  106,  255 
Elege,  see  Warriors,  young 
Etai,  see  Victory  celebration 
Etai  eken,  see  Soul 

Faces,  clay  daubing  of,  in  mourn- 
ing, 45;  greasing  of,  27,  87;  paint- 
ing of,  13,  87,  92 

Fagots,  33,  199 

Family  ties,  25 

Fathers,  72,  138,  255;  ceremonial, 
25-26;  tribal,  200 

Feasts,  144-50,  152,  168-69,  171- 
172,  179-82,  194,  224,  235 

Feather  bands,  12,  27 

Feathers,  116,  127,  244;  duck,  28- 
29;  egret,  10-12,  116,  123,  223; 
hawk,  142;  parrot,  65,  66,  163; 
for  whisks,  12 

Fences,  19 

Ferns,  70,  100,  199,  230;  bracken, 
8,  33;  as  food,  149,  168 

Fetish  objects,  26,  56,  95,  no,  135, 
165 

Feuds,  76,  229 

Fiber  strings,  wearing  ofs  150 

Fishes,  69 

Flowers,  125-26,  256 

Flying  foxes,  111, 140 

Food,  5,  132,  135-36,  139,  141, 
149-50,  167-69,  176,  186,  217, 


2,2,6;  ceremonial,  136-37,  166-69, 
224;  pigs  as,  5,  137,  168-69,  180, 
194;  sweet  potatoes  as,  19,  136; 
see  also  Feasts 

Foreheads,  decoration  of,  12;  greas- 
ing of,  12,  27 

Forests,  3-5;  cloud,  142,  144,  184- 
185,  198-99,  230-31;  rain,  70; 
river,  69-70;  riverain,  6;  see  also 
Woods 

Frogmoutlis,  104,  217,  254 

Funeral  pyres,  43,  56-57,  163,  211, 

220 

Funerals,  43,  46-57,  156-63,   169- 

172,  210-14,  218-20,  255 
Fungi,  4,  70,  230,  239 
Furs,  12,  50,  127-28 

Games,  128-30,  222,  239;  of  war, 
187;  see  also  Sports 

Gardens,  9,  97,  107-108,  112,  126- 
127,  238,  242-43,  254;  cultivation 
of,  28,  177;  protection  of,  22;  re- 
claiming of,  107-108;  trespassing 
in,  32 

Generosity,  186 

Ghosts,  56,  58,  60,  66,  70,  95,  101, 
133,  165,  166,  171-72,  198,  208, 
215;  see  also  Spirits 

Ghost-stoning,  171-72 

Gifts,  exchange  of,  182 

Girls,  125-26,  135,  137,  160,  166, 
167,  211-12,  216-17,  225,  239; 
clothing  of,  54,  88-89,  99.  *79; 
initiation  of,  179-80 

Grass  bundles,  95,  172 

Greetings,  48 

Grottoes,  34 

Harrier  hawks,  15,  88 
Hawk  feathers,  92,  142 
Hawks,  5,  15,  33,  88,  142-43 
Head  lice,  122-23,  160 
Head  nets,  114,  173,  218 
Headdresses:    fur,    12,   50,    128;   of 

men,  92,  121,  123-24;  of  warriors, 

10-13,  87-88;  of  women,  88-89 
Height:  female,  22;  male,  6,  32 
Herons,  106,  133,  252,  255 
Hiperi,  see  Sweet  potatoes 
Hiperi  spears,  22 
Holy  stones,  144-50,  164-69,   181, 

200-202,  210,  244;  faith  in,  237 
Homes:  of  men,  19;  of  wives,  18- 

19;  see  also  Ebeais;  Pilai 
Honey  eaters,  6,  70,  100,  138,  140, 

142,  158 


Horim  gourds,  66 

Horims,   12-13,  26-27,  49,  64,  71, 

121,    138,    183,    190,    236,    255; 

funeral,  157;  tapping  of,  75 
Hospitality,  194 
Hunting,  23,  222 
Hunuk  palin,  see  Men,  violent 
Husbands,   wives   and,   41-42,    140, 

195,  253 

Iki  palin,  see  Mutilation  ritual 
Illness,  225;  treatment  of,  222-24, 

227 
Initiation  of  boys  and  girls,  179—80, 

181 

Insults,  exchange  of,  251 
Intelligence,  72 

Kains  (clan  leaders),  15-17,  26,  39, 
44,  47,  50,  52,  54,  73-75,  76-77, 
102—104,  no,  116,  144,  161-62, 

196,  2OO,  212,   214,   229,   246-47, 

250;  power  struggle  among,  114, 

^53-54 

Kainship,  16;  criteria  for,  122,  186 
Kaio  ceremony,  66 
Kaios,  see  Lookout  towers 
Kangaroos,  5,  12,  50,  127 
Karoli,  254 

Kepu,  see  Men  without  valor 
Killing,  see  Murder 
Kites,  78, 158,  254 
Knives,  26,  201,  231 

Laurel  wood,  127 

Lianas,  63,  70 

Lichens,  4,  8,  33,  74,  *73 

Life  bundle,  4 

Lisanika  leaves,  74,  98,   126,   197, 

199 

Lizards,  9,  41,  78,  217 
Lookout  towers,  9,  20,  27-28,  61- 

66,  102,  112,  238,  244-45,  255; 

building  of,  63-65 
Love  life,  140,  227-28 


Marriage,  179-82,  221,  225;  groups, 
109;  see  also  Husbands;  Wives 

Meals,  19;  see  also  Feasts 

Medicine,  227 

Medicine  men,  see  Men,  wisakun 

Men,  99,  109;  appearance  of,  32, 
226;  and  children,  72,  138;  cloth- 
ing of,  13,  145,  182;  effeminate, 
167,  216;  old,  48,  53,  164-65, 
221,  see  also  Men,  wisakun;  un- 


Men  (continued) 
married,      179;      without     valor 
(kepu),  15,  25,  44,  97,  196,  227, 
236;  vanity  of,  86;  violent  (hunuk 
palin),  76,  232;  wisakun,  164-66, 
188,  227,  235,  246;  see  also  Boys; 
Fathers;  Husbands;  Warriors 
Mice,  94,  139,  166 
Mikak,  see  Baler  shells 
Mokoko  herons,  133,  255 
Mosses,  4,  8,  141,  174,  193 
Mountain  pigeons,  40,  141,  142 
Mountains,  3,  5,  230,  234,  249,  251 
Mourning,    45-48,    49-5 1>    59,    9°> 
152-53,     158-61,    209,    210-11, 

212,    2l8-21,    235,   254 

Mouth  harps,  26,  65,  94»  173 
Murder,   42-43,    102-103,    161-62, 

221,  240,  250,  256 
Mustaches,  89 
Mutilation  ritual,  54,   59,   99,   166, 

169-70,  211,  214,  216;  gifts  after, 

182 

Myrtle,  6,  63,  78,  100,  229 
Myzomela,  70,  118 

Names,  changing  of,  55,  103-104, 
131,  203-204;  meaning  of,  24,  26, 
38,  39,  4i,  63,  77,  83,  96,  102, 
130-31,  134,  149,  151,  161,  184, 
188,  222,  225,  236,  254-55 

Namis,  53,  55,  72,  i59>  171,  203, 
212;  relationship  of,  25 

Nets:  ceremonial,  50,  213-14,  223; 
weaving  of,  225;  worn  by  girls 
and  women,  20-21,  54,  124,  135, 
137,  181,  197;  worn  by  men,  173; 
see  also  Head  nets 

Nightjars,  111,  140,  254 

Nostrils,  boars'  tusks  worn  in,  10, 
13,  26,  116,  158;  mucus-en- 
crusted, 47,  129 

Opossums,  12,  111,  128 

Pandanus,  3,  20,  87,  100,  101,  145, 
230 

Parakeets,  70,  142,  199 

Parrot  feathers,  65,  66,  163 

Personal  appearance:  of  children, 
129-30,  135-36,  138,  253;  of 
men,  6,  32,  77,  86,  130,  241,  250; 
of  women,  22-23,  46,  54,  87,  88, 
137-38,  154,  170;  see  also  Char- 
acteristics; Skin  color 

Pigeons,  8,  .40,  141,  142 


Pigs,  3>  228,  23i>  234;  breeding  of, 
35;  cooking  of,  51,  137-39,  148, 
223;  feasts  of,  11,  194;  as  forfeits, 
183;  as  gifts,  47,  180-82;  grease 
of,  15-16,  87,  150,  158,  162,  164, 
169,  176,  202,  220,  253;  intestines 
of,  102;  killing  of,  50,  137,  146- 
147,  159,  209,  223;  sacramental, 
52,  58,  144-50,  224*  235;  stealing 
of,  32,  42,  44,  79-8o,  196-97, 
221,  228,  231-32,  253-54;  stray, 
244;  tails  of,  164-65;  tending  of, 
18-19,  35-36,  71,  197,  221,  253; 
testicles  of,  53;  trade  in,  127;  vil- 
lages for,  18,  143,  185,  198;  as 
wealth,  102,  131;  young,  198 

Pilai  (men's  huts),  19,  26,  93,  144- 
146 

Plumes,  128;  as  head  decoration, 
11-13,  87-89,  123 

Pottery,  139 

Protocol,  147,  201 

Puna  lizards,  9,  217 

Punishment:  of  children,  166,  170; 
community,  120;  for  stealing,  203; 
for  treachery,  120;  of  wives,  123, 
136 

Purification  ritual,  66,  163,  182 

Rafts,  69 

Raiding  parties,  67,  81,  101,  152 

Raids,  80-86,  113,  152,  190-91, 
205-10,  238;  see  also  Ambush 
raids;  War 

Rains,  3,  8,  15,  69,  92-93,  189,  191, 
202,  206,  228,  237,  245-46 

Rape,  42,  44,  103,  183,  227 

Rat  ceremony,  94 

Rats,  94,  139,  166,  168, 198 

Red  hair,  135,  138 

Reprisals,  196,  232 

Revenge,  162,  171,  201,  204-205, 
215,  237,  240,  250 

Ritual  breathing,  153 

Rituals,  222-24;  mutilation,  see  Mu- 
tilation ritual;  purification,  66, 
163,  182;  see  also  Ceremonies 

Robin  chats,  73,  107,  243 

Salt,  127,  139,  197,  228-31,  234-35 
Sand  drawings,  100 
Savannas,  7,  107,  229,  254 
Seasons,  changing,  143,  254 
Sentries,  112-13,  244 
Shell  belts,  50,  67,  158,  234;  see  also 
Cowrie  belts 


Shell  bibs,  12,  24,  27,  89 
136,  190,  199 

Shell  goods,  180;  trading  in,  127—28 

Shells,  12,  91,  137;  as  currency,  12, 
127-28 

Silis  (family  enclosures),  20,  38,  96, 
236,  255;  consecration  of,  200- 
201 

Singing,  81,  104,  123,  144,  238,  251; 
see  also  Chanting;  Songs 

Sinkholes,  34 

Skin  color,  6,  32,  41,  77,  100,  256 

Skinks,  70,  78 

Skirts,  21,  53,  89,  99,  179,  198 

Smoking,  140,  207;  by  women,  124, 
137?  219,  231;  see  also  Tobacco 

Snail  shells,  12,  91,  137 

Snakes,  78,  126,  217 

Soil,  8,  107 

Songbirds,  107,  224;  hunting  of, 
222 

Songs,  104,  175,  229;  see  also  Sing- 
ing 

Soul,  the,  134,  153,  225 

Southern  Cross,  237 

Spear-rubbing,   175-76 

Spears,  6,  9-10,  14,  16-17,  26,  32, 
39,  63,  82,  103,  173,  189,  191, 
232,  245,  246,  249,  255;  grass,  81, 
168,  217;  hiperi,  22;  making  of, 
175-76;  value  of,  113;  wood  for, 
128,  174 

Spirits,  147,  223;  see  also  Ghosts 

Spoils,  no,  114,  120 

Sport,  war  as,  11;  see  also  Games 

Status,  25 

Stealing:  pig,  32,  42,  44,  79-80, 
196-97,  221,  228,  231-32,  253- 
254;  punishment  for,  203;  of 
sweet  potatoes,  203;  wife,  39,  87, 

91,  185 

Stick  throwing,  222 

Stinkbugs,  186 

Stoicism,  193 

Stomach  hoops,  88 

Stone  ceremony,  144-50,  164-69 

Stone  culture,  5-6 

Stretchers,  30,  86,  193,  209 

Sugar  cane,  189 

Suicide,  126,  188 

Sweet  potatoes,  5,  7,  46,  146,  169, 
212,  219,  223;  advent  of,  106- 
107;  as  basic  food,  19,  136;  culti- 
vation of,  21-22,  28,  243,  see  also 
Gardens;  sacramental,  201;  steal- 
ing of,  203 


Swineherds,  see  Pigs,  tending  of 
Symplocos  trees,  30,  187 

Table  utensils,  139 

Taro  leaves,  121,  135,  225 

Teeth,  grinding  of,  74,  226 

Territorial  conquest,  n 

Thatch  bundles,  162-63,  185 

Tinder,  174,  234 

Toa,  135,  172,  226 

Tobacco,  27, 126,  197 

Tobacco  pipes,  74;  see  also  Smoking 

Topsoil,  107 

Toys,  129,  178,  211 

Trading,  127-28 

Treachery,  punishment  for,  120 

Tripes,  52,  137 

Trophy  bundles,  123 

Victory  celebration,  59,  70,  84-85, 
111-12,  117,  122-25,  208,  238- 
239,  241 

Villages,  6-7,  19-20,  69,  in,  198, 
233;  abandoned,  96-97;  pig,  18, 
143,  185,  198;  restoration  of,  97 

Virginity,  181 

Volcanoes,  105 

Wallabies,  5 

Wands,    egret   feather,    10-11,    58, 

250 
War,  6,  9-17,  30,  5^  73-77,  81-86, 

99,  113-20,  125,  132-34,  189-92, 

244-52;  spoils  of,  no,  114,  120; 

see  also  Raids 
War  parties,   15;  see  also  Raiding 

parties 
Warriors,   9-10,   13-16,  30,   59-60, 

111-13,   115-17,   i5i>   188,  205- 

206,  238,  244-52;  young,  12-13, 

59,  74,  117,  132,  133 
Wasps,  51 

Water  calabashes,  57 
Weapons,  9;  wood  for,  128,  174;  see 

also  Arrows;  Bows;  Spears 
Weaver  finches,  108 
Weaving,  225,  235 
Whisks,  feather,  n 
Whistlers,  9, 100, 254 
White  men,  256 
Wigs,  92,  123 
Wio  wood,  128 
Wisa  ban,  166 

Wisa  things,  29,  66,  101,  150, 165 
Wisakun,  see  Men,  wisakun 

H      XXXI 


Wives,  18-19,  41,  102;  beating  of, 
123,  136;  husbands  and,  41-42, 
140,  195,  253;  killing  of,  116; 
raping  of,  44-45,  227;  rivalry  be- 
tween, 37,  213;  runaway,  123, 
151*  195;  seduction  of,  96,  232; 
stealing  of,  39,  87,  91,  185 

Women,  170,  197,  208,  228,  230- 
231;  appearance  of,  22-23,  54, 
85,  88-89,  138,  154,  170,  225; 
beating  of,  203;  clothing  of,  21, 
179;  decoration  of,  89;  excluded 
from  pilai,  98,  154;  food  of,  139, 
160,  180;  in  mourning,  45-46; 
pregnant,  18;  and  raids,  81 ;  sui- 
cide of,  125,  188;  and  war,  52; 
wisakun,  223;  work  done  by,  21- 
22,  67,  81,  102,  108,  242;  worth- 
less, 167,  175;  see  also  Girls; 
Nets;  Wives 


Wood  for  weapons,  128,  174 

Woodcutters,  183-84,  199 

Woods,  4,  7,  9,  29,  230,  246,  254, 
256;  see  also  Forests 

Wounded,  the,  17,  30-31,  39-40, 
83,  93~94>  no,  114,  118-19,  121, 
133,  134-35*  152-53,  192,  204, 
208,  232,  247-48;  transportation 
of,  30,  39-40,  82,  86,  192-94,  252 

Wounds,  25,  45,  140,  155>  171,  201, 
226,  240,  244,  248;  infected,  221; 
treatment  of,  14-15,  94,  121,  135, 
152-56,  170,  192-93,  226-27 

Woven  articles,  128;  see  also  Weav- 
ing 

Yards,  common,  20;  fencing  of,  19 
Ye  stones,  159,  164,  180 
Yegerek,  see  Boys 
YoS  myrtle,  6,  63 


XXXM 


This  is  the  first  *jtaaa*ftift&:fc!)i  fy)$fc  lifciW  tif 
my  of  the  materia 
Peabody  Expeditfe^ '  - 
Robert  Gardiner 

Matthiessen,  the  j^otoggapiiel  'Eliot  ,  J 
and  Michael  RocWetter^.OJ'the 
photographs  takenf  uAbw-ferti  -fiigl 
plus  a  duptone  fr^tfegwle^*  are  i 
this  book.  , 

ing  in  ffiarp^r's  magazine, 
other  pictures  is  •<»*> waring  in  '/|fi  ,QQ       .  - 
full-length  color  f!{"  's>r/.^  has 

scheduled  for  releaM •  :» ,  !  ••  1  v 


Luisa  Gilardenghi 

'  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Farif 

Review,  is  known  both  as  a  novelist  and  as- an  inter- 
preter of  the  world's  last  wildernesses:  he  has  accom- 
panied other  expeditions  into  the  Canadian  North- 
west Territories  and  the  rain  forests  of  Peru,  and  has 
visited  wild  areas  of  all  five  continents.  His  home  is  on 
eastern  Long  Island.  His  two  previous  works  of  non- 
fiction  are  Wildlife  m  America  (1959)  and  The  Cloud 
Forest  (1961),  described  in  comments  quoted  on  the 
back  of  this  jacket. 


fii 

Publishers  of  The  Viking  Portable  Library 
625  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  22,  N.  Y. 


FEINTED  IN  U.S.A. 


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